


Christmas Advent Calendar

by SomeSleepySloth



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Human, Barista Alec Lightwood, Christmas Fluff, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gentle Dom Magnus Bane, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Hockey Player Alec Lightwood, Ice Hockey Player Magnus Bane, Inspired by the Suite Life of Zack and Cody, Kid Fic, Kid Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Loves Alec Lightwood, Major Character Injury, Mall Santa Claus, Max Crying Will Make You Cry, POV Outsider, Santa Kink, Smut and Crack, Thirsty Magnus Bane, implied BDSM, kid Alec Lightwood, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 28,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeSleepySloth/pseuds/SomeSleepySloth
Summary: For the Malec Discord Server Christmas Advent Calendar Prompts!
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 54
Kudos: 132
Collections: Favorite Malec Stories





	1. #1 - Candy Cane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Candy Cane
> 
> Fun Fact: Candy canes originated in Germany, stemming from a choirmaster's wish to quell rowdy children. To justify giving candy to children, he decided to have a tiny crook added to the end of the 'sugar stick' to remind them of the shepherds who visited the infant Jesus. 
> 
> [Source: Wikipedia]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

_Not now,_ Magnus told himself sternly. Because this was absolutely not the time to be getting hard. The warlock shifted about on the sofa, hiking a leg up and clutching the cushion closer to himself to better hide the erection that he had been sporting for the past fifteen minutes.

All while his oblivious boyfriend carried on blissfully unaware of Magnus’ struggles.

Alec had not been permitted sweets as a child, _it’s bad for your teeth_ was what the young Shadowhunter had been told. Which was admittedly true, but also drained the fun out of life. Because life was meant to be sweet, both metaphorically and literally.

And so Magnus had taken it upon himself to introduce his boyfriend to the wonders of all things sweet. When they had visited Japan, Alec had fallen in love with mochi, and Magnus, being the doting boyfriend he was, had instantly snapped up five boxes from the store owner. The beam that Alec sent his way, his eyes lit up in happiness, Magnus would do anything to keep that expression on Alec’s face always. Anything and everything for his sweet boyfriend.

Earlier today while on the way back from 69th Street where he had a consultation, Magnus had marvelled at the decorations around him, the lights, the Christmas tree, the soft melody of carols. It had been centuries but the Christmas magic still had not faded for him. There was just something about the Christmas spirit that filled Magnus with delight and wonder.

As he strolled down the street his eyes alighted on the sweets display in a candy store. The storefront had been decked out for Christmas; a Christmas tree adorned with candy canes, liquorice sticks, Snickers bars, and Reeses’ cups was featured prominently in the centre window. 

The warlock paused for a moment, admiring the tree, before impulsively heading into the store. Given Alec’s recently discovered sweet tooth, Magnus was certain his boyfriend would be a massive fan of Christmas sweets. He grabbed a variety of treats, making sure he had a healthy assortment, because _there were more flavours to Christmas than peppermint_. If only the candy manufacturers knew that. 

Leaving the store, a hefty bag clutched in his hand, Magnus slowly made his way home, excited to surprise his boyfriend with the treats.

Alec had been there to welcome him home with a kiss at the door. Magnus snuggled into his boyfriend’s arms, soaking in the warmth because his giant of a Shadowhunter tended to run warm. 

He could have conjured up a Heating Spell to dispel the chill from his body, but why do that when he could warm up in Alec’s arms with the benefit of fingers softly brushing the snowflakes from his hair, and kisses being dropped onto his de-snowed quiff?

“Welcome home,” Alec whispered into his ear.

“And what a warm welcome home,” Magnus replied. “Oh! I’ve got a surprise for you!” 

“A surprise?” Alec echoed, the excitement evident in his tone.

Removing himself from the hug reluctantly, Magnus dragged Alec to their couch, the bag of candy placed between them.

When Alec caught sight of the bag, the grin on his face widened. “For me?” He asked, eager fingers already rooting around in the bag to examine its contents.

Magnus hummed in the affirmative. 

“Thank you Magnus,” Alec said, hazel eyes conveying his surprise and gratitude as he made eye contact with the warlock before turning his attention back to the candy.

The Mini Reese’s Cups were a huge hit, the Shadowhunter devoured the entire box as he talked about his latest difficulty developing a new training curriculum for the New York Institute. Magnus had just watched, captivated as his boyfriend shovelled mini cup after mini cup into his mouth between pauses. 

As they chatted about their date plans for the next fortnight, Alec started on the liquorice sticks. His nose wrinkled adorably as he took his first bite, bottom lip sticking out in a disappointed pout.

“Too bitter?” Magnus guessed.

“Too bitter,” Alec confirmed.

“Try the candy cane,” the warlock suggested. A suggestion that brought him to his current predicament.

Alec had eagerly unwrapped the plastic and shoved the long end of the cane straight into his mouth. His sugar-glazed lips were pursed around the curved portion sticking out of his mouth. The candy cane wiggled from side to side as he worked his tongue around it; his brows were furrowed in concentration as if trying to discern whether the candy cane was something he liked.

And, right then, a finger reached up to hook around the end of the cane, slowly tugging it out from between his pink lips. The very lips which were still wrapped tightly around the candy cane; his cheeks were hollowed out and Magnus’ dick twitched in interest in a misguided Pavlovian response as the candy cane was revealed stripe by stripe, ever so tantalising.

_Fuck._

Magnus was helpless to prevent the whimper that escaped his lips.

“Did you want one too?” Alec inquired, one hand already inching towards the bag, ready to retrieve another candy cane.

 _What I want is your mouth around my dick,_ was what Magnus was thinking. 

What he said however was, “oh no, I’m good. I’m just glad that you are enjoying it.”

“It’s really good!” Alec enthused over the blasted candy cane, waving it about in excitement. “I love the taste of peppermint, and there isn’t the cloying sweetness we get with other sweets sometimes!”

“Ohh, err, that’s good. Very good,” Magnus choked out. His brain wasn’t all too capable of a cerebral response since much of his blood was currently rushing down south.

And if Magnus thought the past ten minutes were torturous, it had nothing on what happened next. 

Because Alec had decided to switch to licking the candy cane. The sight of that dextrous tongue which Magnus was ever so familiar with, curling around the length of the candy cane and Alec’s eyes fluttering close in his sugary ecstasy. Magnus’ dick had evidently not gotten the message because he could feel his erection swelling in his trousers which were fast becoming slightly too tight.

The warlock thunked his head against the back of the sofa and exhaled in frustration. He made a mental note to never introduce Alec to popsicles. That might just be the end of Magnus Bane. 

Death by one Alexander Gideon Lightwood’s tongue.


	2. #2 - Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Mistletoe
> 
> Fun Fact: There is a tradition where merrymakers pluck a single berry from the mistletoe with each kiss, and only stop smooching once they were all gone.
> 
> [Source: History.com]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Do you know what that is?” Alec asked his young son as he pointed up at the sprig of leaves floating above his head.

“Mistytoe!” Max answered brightly as he waved his stuffed wolf around excitedly. “What’s it for, Daddy? Is it for Papa’s poison?”

Alec burst into delighted laughter at his son’s answer. Like every parent, there were times when he wondered why he had decided to become one. Surely there was more to life than countless sleepless nights and dealing with tantrums (and the magic outbursts that came along with them). But precious moments like these, they balanced out the rough ones. 

“It’s a mistletoe, blueberry,” Alec corrected, “And Papa makes potions, not poisons.”

“Poshions,” Max repeated dutifully.

 _Close enough_ , Alec thought. 

“Yes, potions! Good job Max!” he praised his son, earning a toothy grin in return.

A small hand reached up to stroke the leaves gently as a look of childlike wonder settled on his cherubic face. “What’s the mistytoe for, Daddy?” Max asked.

“Why don’t you guess hmm?” Alec prompted as he raised Max higher, allowing the young warlock to examine the mistletoe more closely. Tiny eyebrows furrowed in concentration and he stuck his tongue out as he pondered over that question.

“Hint Daddy, I wanna hint.” Max demanded after a minute of failing to come up with an answer to Alec’s question. Alec smothered his grin in his son’s tousled curls; the toddler never did fare well with being kept in the dark. Max’s inquisitive nature meant that he was always eager to learn about new things, something that Magnus had delighted in because it meant that he now had a young disciple to teach potions. 

“Daddyyyyyy.”

“Patience Max, patience,” Alec murmured, “Here’s a hint. We don’t use this in Papa’s potions.”

“That’s not a good hint Daddy,” Max informed him as a pout formed on his face.

“Sorry, Daddy’s not very good at hints. Come on, Max. Do you have a guess?” the Shadowhunter asked as he tried to smooth his son’s hair which could have given a tumbleweed a run for its money because it was curling in every veritable direction. 

“Is it for toes, Daddy?” his son piped up after a minute.

“Nope. Do you want to guess again?” 

When Max’s face fell, Alec decided to spare his son further misery. “It’s for kisses Max, kisses like this,” Alec answered as he leaned down to press a kiss to Max’s cheek. His stubble was rough against the toddler’s smooth skin and his son giggled delightedly at how it tickled. 

“Daddy no! Tickles!” Max cried out when Alec rubbed his cheek against Max’s. The stuffed wolf hit Alec squarely in the face as the toddler squirmed and kicked about in his arms trying to evade further tickle attacks.

“Is someone bullying my precious blueberry?” Magnus drawled out as he stepped through the portal that had just opened in the living room.

“Papa!” Max wiggled impatiently, a silent demand to be let down. And the minute those tiny feet touched the ground, he shot straight for his Papa. The warlock swept his son into his arms, tossing him delightedly into the air. 

The first time Magnus had done that, Alec’s heart had nearly stopped, filled with anxiety at the thought of their baby accidentally falling to the ground. But now, a year later, he is used to it, especially after Magnus explained that he cast a cushioning charm on the floor whenever he tossed Max in the air, putting Alec’s worries to rest.

“Was Daddy bullying you, blueberry?” Magnus asked as he smirked in Alec’s direction. 

“Yes,” Max answered as he wrapped his arms around his Papa.

“Betrayal. I have been betrayed by my son!” Alec gasped out in mock-hurt. “I was just explaining to Max what a mistletoe was.”

“A mistletoe you say?” Magnus mused as he crossed the room to stand squarely under the mistletoe across from Alec, his precious bundle clutched in his arms still. 

“It’s for kisses, Papa,” Max explained, pressing a kiss into his stuffed wolf as a demonstration.

“Oh, I am very good at that!” Magnus piped up, earning a scandalised look from his Shadowhunter husband. 

Max swivelled his head between his Papa and Daddy; one had a smug expression while the other looked torn between exasperation and fondness. Deciding that his fathers were having one of their moments _again_ , the young warlock huffed and demanded to be let down, because _I wanna play blocks with Loki, Papa!_

~~

“On the topic of mistletoes, did you know about the berry tradition?” Magnus questioned in an innocent tone that was apparently fooling no one as he moved closer to his husband.

“What berry tradition?” Alec squinted at Magnus suspiciously.

In lieu of a response, the warlock leant up and kissed his husband, covering Alec’s surprised gasp with his lips. “One,” he whispered as he pulled back.

“One?”

Magnus reached up and plucked a berry from the mistletoe above them. He rolled the small berry with his fingers as he explained, “tradition dictates that we pluck a single berry from the mistletoe with each kiss, and only stop kissing when they are all gone.”

The Shadowhunter peered up at the mistletoe twinkling merrily above them. “There are at least twenty berries, Magnus.”

“Well, isn’t that just my lucky day then,” Magnus remarked cheekily as he pressed another kiss to Alec’s lips.

_“Two.”_


	3. #3 - Snowflake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Snowflake
> 
> Fun Fact: (Okay it might not actually be fun, but I find them fun!!)  
> Snowflakes aren't actually white, even if they appear so. They are translucent. Rather, it is the light reflecting off the snowflake's surface that gives it its white appearance.
> 
> [Source: BBC Earth]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

The alarm had gone off ten minutes ago, but Magnus was loath to rouse himself from his deep slumber, especially after the rough night he had. He turned to the side, and felt the knot within him untangle at the sight of his husband sleeping peacefully. He couldn’t help but fixate on the way his chest rose and fell with each breath because yesterday… _fuck_.

Yesterday night, Alec had stumbled through their loft door clutching his bloody flank. Thankfully Magnus had been warned by his Parabatai about the injury, which while not fatal, still looked rather gruesome. It did certainly prevent him from panicking in front of his injured husband. 

Sending a silent prayer to the Angels above for the fact that their sons were fast asleep (and not awake to witness Alec’s injury), Magnus carried Alec into their bedroom. Their sons had an inkling of how dangerous their fathers’ jobs were, but Magnus wished to preserve some semblance of innocence for them. For a while more, at least.

He snapped his fingers to pull the covers back and gently lay his husband on the pillow. Grabbing the paste that he had prepared the minute he had received Jace’s phone call, he tenderly applied it to the injured area.

The instant the cold paste hit the burnt flesh, Alec groaned and writhed about in pain. “Magnus. Hurts.”

“I know darling, just a bit more. Just a bit more alright,” the warlock soothed. It broke his heart to see his husband in agony; he would have cast a numbing charm in a heartbeat to drain some pain away but this paste worked better without magical interference. 

And so Magnus had to grit his teeth and murmur comforting words into Alec’s ear while still spreading the paste over the wound as his Shadowhunter hissed in pain.

“All done, Alexander.” Magnus placed the now empty bowl on their bedside table and tenderly brushed Alec’s hair.

The Shadowhunter’s taut body finally relaxed as hazel eyes blinked open groggily. “Magnus?”

“I’m here darling.”

“Hurts still,” Alec whimpered as he fidgeted about.

“I’m sorry Alexander, it will start taking effect in about an hour’s time. Just rest alright? You’ll be all better tomorrow morning,” Magnus coaxed as he carefully removed the charred pieces of clothing hanging on to Alec’s body still.

“Mmkay. Love you Magnus,” the Shadowhunter slurred before falling asleep. 

The warlock had spent the next hour watching over his husband as he slumbered on before reluctantly falling asleep as well, tangling his fingers together with Alec, thankful that he had his husband safe and sound by his side for one more night.

Magnus reached out to brush the hair from Alec’s forehead as his husband continued sleeping peacefully, only to stop when he heard the pitter-patter of feet outside their door. Or what his sons _supposed_ was a pitter-patter, because those two had no idea what being subtle was even if it hit them in their adorable faces. As the stomps drew nearer, Magnus heaved himself out of bed reluctantly.

He opened their bedroom door and saw his two miscreants pushing at each other, trying to get the other to be the brave soul disturbing their fathers’ sleep.

“You knock!” Max whined as he kicked his foot against the floor.

“Hey! I did that the last time! It’s your turn, shorty!” Rafael argued, pushing his brother forward.

That name earned him a headbutt from Max, those tiny horns poking into Rafe’s stomach. “Oi, that hurts, you -”

And Magnus had seen enough. “Boys,” he called out. Two heads swivelled in his direction and their faces brightened instantly, their earlier fight already forgotten.

“PAPA!” 

“Papa! It snowed! It snowed last night! Papa! Snow!!!” Max exclaimed joyfully as he tugged on Magnus’ arm, swinging it from side to side in excitement.

Magnus glanced towards the balcony, and indeed, it had snowed overnight. The first snowfall. Mounds of snow covered the exposed areas, collecting on the benches and tables outside.

“Papa! Can we play?” Rafael asked, injecting hopefulness in his tone.

“Of course you can. Just make sure you boys are quiet, alright? Daddy’s asleep now,” Magnus answered, bringing a finger up to his lips in the universal gesture for silence.

Which his sons promptly ignored in favour of cheering jubilantly at the thought of getting to play in snow.

“Boys, what did I just say?” The warlock chided his sons, who quieted down with guilty expressions.

“Sorry Papa,” they whispered in unison.

“Come. Let’s get you bundled up for the snow.” Magnus pushed both boys in the direction of their bedrooms to retrieve their coats and gloves.

Fifteen minutes later, the warlock smiled into the coffee he’d conjured as he watched his young sons from his vantage point at the bench. 

The both of them were debating the merits of bundling their snowman in a coat. Max was adamant that the snowman would be cold and should therefore wear a coat, _like us Rafe! We have coats! He needs a coat too!_

Conversely, Rafe held the opinion that snowmen couldn’t feel cold because they were made of snow, which was already cold!

“Why don’t you boys build _two_ snowman instead? One with a coat, one without?” Magnus suggested.

“No Papa! This is the Lightwood-Bane snowman!! One family, one snowman” Rafe insisted before turning back to his debate.

Magnus shrugged and took another sip of his hot coffee. _Whatever their little hearts desired_ , even if his son’s snowman logic was somewhat flawed.

As the debate dissolved into a snowball fight and the sounds of childish laughter filled the air, Magnus felt a sense of wistfulness wash over him. 

Growing up in Indonesia, a country with an equatorial climate, he had never experienced snow, much less a snowball fight. Not that he had anyone he could throw snowballs at, his mother was too frail to indulge his childish antics, and he didn’t have many friends. 

The first time he had the opportunity to touch snow, he had thought himself too old to engage in snowball fights and that was _that._

Right then, a warm body settles beside Magnus on the bench, an arm reaching up to tug the warlock closer. “Alexander. Are you feeling better?” 

“Mmhmm. Thank you for letting me sleep in.” Alec replied, ducking down to give Magnus his morning kiss.

“You were injured.” Magnus stated. Because what sort of bumpkin would disturb an injured man’s rest?

Alec merely nuzzled his nose into Magnus’ hair, still tousled and ungelled as the warlock had no intention of venturing out of the loft today. The family did deserve a cozy day at home after yesterday’s ordeal, Magnus needed it. 

“It snowed last night. First snowfall of the year,” Alec remarked as flurries of snow began falling above their heads, to the loud cheers of their sons.

Both men leaned into each other, basking in the snowfall and watching their sons fondly when Alec asked apropos of nothing, “Were you ever a bishop?”

“A what?”

“Bishop.”

And Magnus turned to give Alec a bewildered look, because his husband had asked questions about his past before. Some rather interesting ones. But this, well, this was by far the most outlandish question and Alec had once asked if pampering a cow produced spoilt milk.

“Why are you asking this?” Because the warlock genuinely could not figure out where this question came from. He had long given up understanding Alec’s train of thought. While others had trains of thoughts that chugged slowly along the tracks, the Shadowhunter’s hurtled around in five different directions at once.

“When I was young, I was curious about snow after a snowball fight,” Alec explained, “so I went home and read up on snow. And I stumbled across an article which said, and I quote, the first known reference to snowflakes was from Scandinavian bishop Olaus Magnus in 1555.” 

“And you think that is me?” The warlock asked dubiously, “and how do you remember things like these after so many years?”

“You share the same name! Magnus!” Alec retorted.

And Magnus honestly had no idea how to reply to that, aside from bursting into laughter. “By the Angel. Never change Alec, never change,” he choked out.

“So was that you?” Alec pressed.

The warlock sighed, “No Alexander, I was never a bishop.”

“And yes, I’m very sure about that,” he added, already anticipating his husband’s question.

“Then what were you doing in 1555? Were you in Scandinavia? Actually, have you been to the Scandinavian countries?”

Magnus huffed before trying to recall what he was doing centuries ago to satisfy Alec’s curiosity. 

Sitting on the balcony bench, in his husband’s arms, being peppered with inane questions while their sons chased after Chairman Meow and Church armed with snowballs, this wasn’t something young Magnus had envisioned. But this was infinitely better than whatever he could dream up.


	4. #4 - Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Lights
> 
> Fun Fact: While it is recommended that you travel out to catch the Northern Lights, the level of light pollution in Reyjavik (the capital of Iceland) is low enough that you can enjoy the splendour of the Aurora Borealis in the city itself at night.
> 
> [Source: My friend who visited Iceland]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Did you know that Northern Lights are caused by the collisions between electrons present in the Earth’s magnetosphere, and the oxygen and nitrogen molecules in Earth’s upper atmosphere?” Alec asked as he gazed up at the lights rippling across the night sky, “and actually, depending on which molecule they collide with, a different colour is produced?”

The younger man pushed his glasses up from where they were slipping down his face and continued explaining how the Aurora Borealis was formed, his hands waving around in the air enthusiastically. And Magnus feels a wave of affection surge through him at how far Alec had come from the day they had first met.

~~

Magnus had been frequenting Hunter’s Moon, a cafe located in his office lobby ever since he started working there. He had no idea what they put in their cappuccinos, but whatever was in there kept luring the editor back to the shop. It was there that Magnus had first met Alec, Hunter’s Moon's newest barista. 

The graduate student had been oblivious to Magnus hitting on him for a whole month, leading to the editor thinking that he was barking up the wrong tree. 

He had conversed with Alec whenever he stepped into the store, the barista lingering over the older man’s order as Magnus inquired about Alec’s exams. Not to mention the number of times Magnus had caught the younger man staring at his lips, his arse, and his fingers. Then again, it could be that all those romance novels he was editing had gotten to his head. He was ready to give up on his endeavour. But not before asking Alec out for a date. It never hurt to try.

To his utter surprise, Alexander had stammered a yes to his question. 

Saying their first date was a disaster however, would be putting it lightly. 

All throughout dinner, Alec had fidgeted in his seat, his knee bouncing nervously as he gave monosyllabic answers to Magnus’ questions. Magnus was baffled; he knew Alec was shy but this behaviour was out of the norm for him. He felt his heart sinking at the thought that Alec had merely agreed to the date out of politeness.

“Alexander,” the editor said kindly, “you know you didn’t have to agree to a date with me if you didn’t want to. It’s okay to say no, I would have respected that.”

The grad student’s fork landed with a loud clatter against his plate. “No, no, I do want to be here.”

“Really?” Magnus couldn’t help his scepticism.

“I just. I’m nervous. I don’t go on dates very often. And uh. I. I looked up things to do. And not to do. And this list said not to ramble. And I like to ramble. Which my siblings say is annoying. So I’m try-”

“Alexander, I don’t mind when you ramble. I actually like it when you do,” Magnus interrupted, placing his hand on top of Alec’s trembling one.

“Oh, you do?” The younger man blinked in confusion.

“Yes, I do,” Magnus confirmed. The shy smile that bloomed across Alexander’s face in response was absolutely stunning.

Over the next three years, Magnus had delighted in watching Alec retreat out of his shell. There were times when he was hit by bouts of insecurity and inadequacy, but the older man was happy to dispel any such negative thoughts from his boyfriend’s mind. 

Even though sometimes he still didn’t understand what Alexander was rambling about, that he gave the younger man his complete attention was more than enough for Alec.

This trip to Iceland had been Alec’s surprise gift for their third anniversary. 

The couple had exchanged gifts at their anniversary dinner, Magnus had given Alec the new telephoto lens that he had been eyeing for the past three months, while Alec had given him an… envelope.

“I’ve been saving for the past year, after you mentioned that you’ve not been to Iceland before and that you wanted to see the Northern Lights,” Alec elaborated as Magnus opened the envelope to find two tickets to Reykjavik.

“Oh Alexander,” he breathed out, fingers sweeping across the ticket reverently. 

“And I know it isn’t a business class ticket, I can’t afford that on a student budget, and I think the hotel is only a three star one? I hope that’s good enough,” Alec trailed off as he rubbed his palms on his trousers nervously. 

“Alexander, this is more than good enough. I don’t need such an expensive gift.”

“But you buy me expensive gifts...”

“Darling, I just don’t want you to be starving or scrimping on your necessities.”

“I’m not,” Alec insisted, “the research assistant job I took up pays higher than my barista job. So I can save more without compromising on my expenses. I just want to spoil you sometimes too. You deserve it!”

When his boyfriend put it like that, Magnus had no choice but to accept his exceptionally thoughtful gift. “Thank you darling, I can’t wait to explore Iceland with you.”

~~

The first six days had been a revelation. While Magnus loved New York City with its hustle and bustle, there was something to be said about the serenity of Iceland. Standing at Thingvellir, looking out at the vast expanse of nature in front of them, covered in ice sheets, and knowing that this spot was where the Northern American and Eurasian tectonic plates were diverging beneath their very feet was awe-inspiring. Inspiring and humbling, because nature was truly fucking brilliant. From the geysers to the waterfalls, the beauty was astounding.

As for Alec, he had greatly enjoyed the horseback riding tour they went on. Far too much in Magnus’ opinion because his boyfriend definitely spent more time patting the horse’s mane and talking to said horse than admiring the scenery. He was just thankful that Alec hadn’t asked to bring the horse home, not because he would have to disappoint his boyfriend by telling him no, but because he had no fucking idea how they were going to smuggle a horse out of the country and back into their loft, seeing as he was incapable of telling Alec no. 

However, the greatest disappointment was the fact that Iceland had been cloudy for the past six days, which meant that they hadn’t been able to witness the Northern Lights they had travelled here for. But tonight, on their last night in Iceland, the skies had finally seen fit to clear up, leaving a blank canvas for the Northern Lights to paint themselves across.

And now, sitting here, tucked under Alec’s arm as his boyfriend talked about the Aurora Borealis’ Southern counterpart and how they should visit New Zealand one day, the green and red streaks casting a soft glow on the younger man’s face, his hazel eyes alight with excitement, Magnus summoned the courage to ask the question he had been wanting to ask for the past three months.

“Alexander?” 

“Hmm?”

“Marry me?” Magnus asked, bracing himself for any and every possible answer that Alec could possibly give. Would he agree? Or would he laugh in Magnus’ face? Or even run off back to the hotel leaving Magnus to freeze in the cold?

“Are you sure?” Alec blurted out, before his brain finally kicks into gear, “I mean yes. Yes, Magnus. Yes, I want to marry you. If you are sure that is. Yes.”

“Since I am, indeed, sure, should I take your response as a yes?” Magnus couldn’t stop himself from teasing his flustered boyfriend. Wait, no. Fiancé. Alec was his fiancé now.

“Yes, I want to marry you,” Alec answered firmly before leaning down to seal the deal with a kiss, as the Northern Lights danced merrily across the night sky.


	5. #5 - Seasonal Drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Seasonal Drinks
> 
> Fun Fact: Toffee Nut Latte is the best seasonal drink ever. 
> 
> [Source: Me]
> 
> You can fight me if you disagree.
> 
> P.S Don't actually fight me, I will probably lose. And that makes me sad.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“No, no, no, no,” Magnus mutters under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. Maybe he is just seeing things. Yes, that is entirely plausible. It is indeed still rather early in the morning. One gloved hand reaches up to knuckle at his eye, wiping any lingering traces of sleep from it. Sleepiness could have caused him to hallucinate things, he reasons with himself.

Surely this can’t be happening to him. He is a good boy, he donates to charity, he volunteers at the soup kitchens, he tutors other students in his modules, and he makes sure to call his mother every week. Or maybe this is because he had neglected to donate to the homeless man two days ago when he was rushing to get to the train station. That could be it; maybe if he goes back to donate fifty dollars, it could change the tide of things. 

Because this, this was too soon, leaving him with little time to process it all. He wasn’t ready for this. He refuses to accept it. Absolutely not. Over his dead body. This is a hill he is fucking ready to die on.

He desperately scans the boards again, keeping his eyes peeled, hoping fervently that he had just made a mistake the first time around. It has to be a mistake, an omission, a careless one mayhap, but one that could be easily corrected.

However, when his second and third searches fail to yield any positive results, he knows he has little choice but to accept defeat; the ashen taste of defeat feels bitter in his mouth. The sinking feeling in his gut intensifies, weighed down by hopelessness and anguish.

A scrambled egg and turkey ham pita, served with a dash of defeat and a helping of betrayal. A great breakfast to start the day with really. 

Is this how Caesar felt as Bruce plunged the knife through his already wounded body? Slicing him open, physically and metaphorically. The confusion, the denial, and the despair. Betrayal from the source he had least expected.

“Magnus!”

He jerks out of his melancholic trance and looks up to see the concerned hazel eyes of Alec. The barista is hovering in front of him, hands clenched nervously in his apron and eyes raking over Magnus as if trying to ascertain whether the other man is in need of immediate medical attention. 

The political science student waves the barista’s concern away as he trudges towards the counter.

“ _Et tu_ , Alexander?” Magnus declares glumly as he collapses on the countertop like a Victorian lady overcome by hysteria. 

“ _Moi_? Magnus, are you okay?” Alec presses, his dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I have been betrayed most severely,” he pronounces, earning a bewildered look from Alec.

Before Alec can respond, the other barista, Jace (or Jace the Jerk as Magnus calls him in his head) interjects, “Bit early for the dramatics, isn’t it?” The blond tosses him an unimpressed look before returning to the cups that he had been washing when Magnus first entered the cafe.

“Jace! That’s not very nice,” Alec chides, as he nudges his brother with his sharp elbow; Magnus chuckles at the pained grunt that Jace emits. 

Turning back to Magnus, he says, “Sorry about that. Are you alright? You seemed really upset when you stepped through the door.”

“I am, I am very upset,” Magnus informs the barista, “I had been lulled into a false state of contentment by you, and now that happiness has been cruelly ripped away from me. Stone cold betrayal.”

It finally clicks for Alec that everything Magnus had been saying so far had been in jest, and he visibly slumps in relief. He leans against the counter on his elbows and his eyes are twinkling in amusement now. “So what is this transgression I’m supposed to have committed?”

“You, my good sir,” and here, Magnus waves a finger accusingly for good measure, “have removed my beloved pumpkin spice latte from the menu.”

The barista stares at him for ten whole seconds before he throws his head back in laughter.

Strangely enough, Magnus can’t find it in him to be annoyed at the lack of support or empathy for his plight because Alec laughing is a captivating sight. The giggle that spills forth from his lips is music to Magnus’ ears, and those crinkles by his eyes, the shoulders shaking in laughter as he wipes the tears from his eyes. Fuck, he looks gorgeous. But not gorgeous enough to negate Magnus’ betrayal.

“Hey. I will have you know that it is merely the 8th of November, Halloween was just eight days ago.” Magnus complains, “Christmas is ages away still.”

That said, he has no idea what he is more irked at. The fact that his precious pumpkin spiced latte was taken off the menu, or the fact that it had been replaced by the horrific monstrosity that was the Jolly Baked Apple Latte. Because there certainly isn’t anything remotely jolly about that drink. Baked apples went into apple pies, not coffee. 

Alec raises his arms in surrender. “Look. I don’t make the rules here. My parents do. Also, the pumpkin spice latte is a seasonal drink, Magnus.”

“An autumnal season drink you mean,” Magnus corrects, “and last I checked, we are still in autumn. Ergo, my pumpkin spice latte belongs on the menu still.” He knows he is being pedantic now, but fuck, it is 10am, he has an 11am lecture, and he needs his pumpkin spice latte. Realistically he knew that the drink would be replaced by Christmas drinks, sooner or later. That said, it would have been more ideal if it was _later_.

He sinks back to the countertop with a groan. “Whatever will I do now, Alexander?”

“You could try our new seasonal drink. The Jolly Baked Apple Latte sold quite well with our morning office crowd,” Alec suggests. His lips tug up in the corner when Magnus gives him a withering glare.

“Baked apples belong in apple pies and you know that,” he mumbles darkly.

And there’s that happy laughter again. It is really proving to be a distraction from the sulk-fest that Magnus is currently engaged in.

Alec glances around the coffee shop, before he ducks down to whisper in Magnus’ ear. “What if I tell you I still have the pumpkin spice syrup in the back?”

He visibly perks up at that, “are you serious?”

“I’m not serious, I’m Alec,” the barista deadpans. “But yes, I mean, we just changed the menu this morning, and haven’t gotten rid of the stuff yet.”

“Are you saying you will make me my pumpkin spice latte?” He doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case they get crushed again, but his optimistic brain is already conjuring up images of him sipping the latte. He can already taste the faint hint of spice and the sweetness of the pumpkin.

“Yes, Magnus, I am saying I will make you one. Wait here, alright? I’ll be back soon, yeah.” Alec pushes away from the counter and heads into the kitchen, but not before giving Magnus a comforting pat on the back. 

“You do know that you can buy your own bottle of pumpkin spice syrup and make that drink yourself all year round?” Jace drawls out from where he is perched by the sink. 

Magnus bats his eyelashes and simpers in his direction. “But no one makes them like you do, pumpkin,” he answers.

The blond just snorts and rolls his eyes, “Please save the pet names for Alec, I don’t need them.”

Right then, Magnus spies Alec out of the corner of his eyes and nestled in the crook of his arms is the bottle of pumpkin spice syrup. It takes great effort to not coo like Gollum at the sight of his _precious_. 

Judging by the fact that Alec’s first course of action is not to make the drink, but to shove Jace none too gently in the direction of the kitchen, under the guise of preparing the dough for the milk chocolate orange cookies, he appears to have heard Jace’s remark. That, as well as the red tips of his ears. But he doesn’t comment on it as he busies himself with the preparation of the drink, so Magnus lets the remark slide.

Five minutes later, cradled in Magnus’ palms is his cup of Pumpkin Spice Latte. With the heat of the beverage warming up his palms, even through his gloves, and the smell of pumpkin wafting up his nose, he thinks this must be what bliss feels like. 

He had the same drink yesterday, but after today’s harrowing ordeal, when he thought he had lost it, only to finally have it back in his hands, it makes it extra dear to him. And he vows in that moment, never to take anything for granted again.

“Name your price, Alexander,” he declares, “anything your heart desires shall be yours.”

Alec shakes his head in fondness at Magnus’ antics. But before he can answer the question, a voice pipes up from the vicinity of the kitchen. “HIS HEART DESIRES A DATE WITH YOU!”

“SHUT UP IZZY!” he hollers, before turning back to Magnus, fingers worrying at his apron strings. “You don’t have to listen to her. Although I - ”

“But what if I want to?” Magnus interrupts. 

“THEN HE WILL SEE YOU AT SEVEN TONIGHT!” This time, there are two voices answering in unison, which Magnus suspects to be Jace and Izzy. 

The redness on Alec’s ears has spread to his face which is now bright red. There was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And now, there is Alexander the Red-Faced Barista. 

Lowering his voice deliberately to prevent any eavesdropping, as well-intentioned as they might be, Magnus asks, “I would actually love to take you on a date tonight, if you want? I end classes at six.”

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that,” Alec answers, a bashful smile unfurling on his face.

Magnus whips his phone out, ready to exchange numbers, when Alec pipes up, “They are already on your cup.”

_His what?_

Flicking his gaze down, he expects to see the usual plain white background with the headless green mermaid. Except this time, there are ten digits scrawled across its surface. In his haste to get his first hit of his coffee, he had completely missed that.

“You smooth fucker.”

In the entire twenty minutes that he had been at the coffee shop, he feels like he has been on an emotional roller coaster, experiencing the entire gamut of human emotions. Despair, anguish, hopefulness, and now happiness. Not that he is complaining, because he has his coffee and a date with a pretty barista.


	6. #6 - Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Vacation
> 
> Fun Fact: None today unfortunately.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Alexander?” Magnus calls out as he raps his knuckles lightly against the home office’s door. The very door that had been firmly shut for at least fifteen hours a day for the past month. There is no response; he knocks again.

When the door remains closed, the warlock sighs and pushes it open, only to be greeted by the sight of his husband snoozing. 

His Shadowhunter is hunched over his desk, head resting on the mess of papers spread over the tabletop, with a pen still firmly gripped in his hand. Magnus winces at the awkward position; this sleeping posture is definitely going to cause some neck pain for the younger man tomorrow. Nothing a quick Irazte wouldn’t take care of thankfully.

Once upon a time, the warlock would have ribbed the Shadowhunter for sleeping and slacking on the job. 

But now, as he pads closer to the table, he sees the eyebags below Alec’s eyes, the furrowed brows ever present even in his slumber, and the frown on his lips. The grunting snores he emits every few seconds worries Magnus further because as much as he teases his boyfriend for snoring, it is never this loud. Not unless he is completely knackered.

Coffee cups litter the surface of Alec’s desk, some drained of their contents, others still half-full. As for the sandwich that the warlock had delivered to him six hours ago, it is only half eaten. Or rather ten percent eaten. Alec had probably started on the sandwich, only to be distracted by something else after just one bite.

It breaks Magnus’ heart to witness his husband work himself to the bone like that. A small part of him wishes to march down to the Clave, and tear each of them a new one for how they are treating Alexander. But a larger part of him wants to just whisk his husband away for a vacation, away from the stressors, where he could properly unwind and get the rest he sorely needed. 

“Alexander,” he whispers, shaking his shoulder gently, “Wake up, darling.” 

The other man grunts, but continues sleeping on, oblivious to his husband’s presence. Another shake of the shoulder finally rouses Alec from his deep but restless slumber.

He awakens with a jolt, jerking into an upright position. He sweeps his gaze around the room, as if trying to figure out if he is in any immediate danger. When he turns and sees Magnus standing beside him, the tension bleeds out of him as he sags back into his chair.

“Oh hey, Magnus,” he mumbles, fingers reaching up to scratch at his five o’clock shadow, “what are you doing here? Did you need -” His question is punctuated by a yawn so big that Magnus swears he can literally hear Alec’s jaw click open. “Sorry, did you need something?”

“I don’t need anything per se,” Magnus hedges, trying to approach this situation tactfully. 

Jaw sufficiently cracked and back stretched enough, Alec looks slightly more awake now. He shifts and gestures for Magnus to step into the newly opened space in the cradle of his legs, nuzzling his exhausted face into the warlock’s silk shirt and seeking comfort from the familiar scent of sandalwood clinging to his husband’s skin.

Magnus obliges and threads his fingers through the Shadowhunter’s tousled locks, taking care to ensure the strands don’t get caught in his rings. Alec’s hair is sticking up in every veritable direction, probably from all the tugging he was wont to do when stressed.

“Darling, you need a break. You have been working far too hard for the past month, you need to rest,” Magnus says, “And no, power naps at the desk do not count. I mean proper sleep, in bed, preferably snuggled up to your lonely husband.”

There’s a weary sigh, the exhale gently ruffling the older man’s shirt, “I wish I could, but there is just so much to be done, we have been trying to sort out the situation at the Paris Institute.”

“The Paris Institute?” Magnus echoes.

“Yeah,” Alec shrugs his shoulders. “Remember how I told you the Head of the Paris Institute disappeared a month ago along with three other Shadowhunters?”

“Mmhm.”

“Right. Anyway, we’ve been monitoring the situation. But now, the whole Institute itself seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. We haven’t been able to contact them for the past week at all. And now there’s a spike in demon infestations. Its all gone to fucking shit, Magnus!” Alec gets increasingly agitated as he speaks; his fingers digging grooves into Magnus’ sides.

“Oh, Alexander. I know this matter is of grave importance, but so is your health. You need to take care of yourself.” Magnus’ nimble fingers reach down to knead at Alec’s broad shoulders, taut with tension and far too accustomed to carrying the burden of the world. 

This is something that the warlock keeps in mind when talking to his husband about his workload. He worries about his husband always, he had thought things would be slightly easier now that Alec’s new role as the Inquisitor keeps him slightly more desk-bound. 

But now the warlock is starting to think that even Lilith poses a smaller threat to Alec than the sheer amount of paperwork that threatens to drown him. It’s a delicate balance to strike between making Alec aware of Magnus’ concern for him, whilst also not guilt-tripping him into easing off his tendency to get too caught up in work.

“Didn’t mean to make you worry, sorry Magnus,” Alec says automatically, his voice partially muffled by his husband’s shirt.

Magnus hums in acknowledgement. “How about we take a day off, hmm?”

At that suggestion, Alec rears back and detaches himself from the embrace. “Magnus, we are in the midst of a crisis, and you want me to take a vacation?” he protests, the indignance clear in his voice.

“Not a vacation, Alexander, just a day off. You have been working so hard for the past month, this isn’t sustainable.” Magnus taps the eye bags below those hazel eyes, which are dulled by exhaustion, “You are turning into a panda.”

“But I can’t just leave all this work behind to go gallivanting around the world!”

“No one said anything about the world. I would love to take you on a week long holiday, but that can wait until this Paris Institute case wraps up. For now, how about a day off at home hmm?”

When bleary hazel eyes peer up at him curiously, Magnus elaborates, “We can have a lazy day, sleep in, cook some brunch, watch some movies. Maybe even take a walk around Idris.”

“That does sound nice,” Alec concedes, as he leans back in to rest his head against Magnus’ stomach.

“It does doesn’t it? Let’s take tomorrow off, yeah?” 

“Yeah. A day off at home with you sounds good,” Alec reaches for Magnus’ hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “Thank you Magnus. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The warlock snaps his fingers to send a fire message to both his and Alec’s assistants to inform them of their absence tomorrow the minute Alec gives his consent. Another snap brings up a portal, shimmering in the middle of the office. “Okay, that’s all sorted. Come now Alexander, bed time for you,” he says. 

That night, with Alec’s chest plastered to his back, an arm thrown around his waist, and the soft snuffling snores in his ear, Magnus is already making plans in his head for a week-long vacation as soon as this ordeal is over. 

Alec definitely needed, and deserved, one.


	7. #7 - Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: "Jingle Bells" was the first song broadcast from space, in a Christmas-themed prank by Gemini 6 astronauts Tom Stafford and Wally Schirra.
> 
> [Source: Wikipedia]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)
> 
> Also, the absolutely brilliant [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce) not only beta'd this but also drew an amazing art for this. Please send her all your love and tell her how amazing it is!

* * *

_“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?”_

Alec grits his teeth because he is, indeed, listening. Against his own volition, might he add. He huffs in frustration and tries to focus on his ethics assignment - _do the problems of inconsummerability undermine the role of utility maximisation in welfare economics?_ His word document is blank, devoid of any words, because he has been stuck on this fucking question for the past thirty minutes. His utility would probably be maximised by not doing this essay because, as Marie Kondo aptly put it, it certainly does not spark joy.

He can scarcely believe that it is Christmas Day and here he is, stuck in his stupid New York City apartment. Instead of being at home surrounded by his siblings, having a roast dinner, and watching their favourite Christmas movie. Alas, with the current situation, travelling out of state is out of the question. His mother had offered to ring up relatives in the area to see if they could deliver a Christmas dinner to him, but he had turned her down. 

“I’ll be alright, Mom,” he had said, “I’ll just whip something up at home. Don’t worry about me.”

Yet, this morning when he woke up to the sight of New York blanketed by a layer of snow and remembered that he was stranded alone in his apartment on such a day, his motivation to spend all day slaving over a meal for one person simply drained out of him. Fuck it, he would use the ingredients tomorrow, he told himself.

Armed with a warm cup of Irish coffee, he had elected to attempt making a dent in his rather significant homework load; it could at the very least serve as a distraction from his loneliness. And hopefully allow him to put Christmas out of his mind.

But the voice of Michael Bublé drifting down from the flat above dashes those hopes. The songs had started three hours ago, and his upstairs neighbour appears to be an ardent fan of the singer given how the album is now on its third replay. 

Right then, the warbling croak of his neighbour joins Bublé, and Alec decides he’s had enough. Maybe it’s the fact that he misses his family awfully, or that he’s stumped by his essay, but whatever it is, it brings out his inner Grinch.

Before rising from the table he had been camped out at since this morning, he makes sure to save his work. Who knows, maybe that empty document would come in handy later. 

He grabs his mask - a gray one with pink hearts and blue arrows on it that Izzy had sent him earlier this year -, his phone, keys, and storms up the stairs.

_Knock knock._

A man’s voice calls from inside, “Who’s there?”

“Your neighbour!” Alec replies.

There’s a pause, the voice of Bublé stops finally as the music is turned off, before the other man shouts out an, “I’m coming, hang on!” Alec steps back from the door and waits.

The door swings open to reveal a slightly shorter man with tanned skin. He’s barefoot and clad in a green silk shirt paired with smart looking trousers, and there’s a Santa Claus hat perched jauntily atop his head. The hat seems out of place given the rest of the outfit, but strangely enough, it appears to work for this man somehow.

“Hi, Merry Christmas! May I help you?” the neighbour inquires politely with a befuddled expression.

“Yes. Look, I live below you, and you have been playing Bublé non-stop for the past three hours. And I know that because I can hear it. I have been hearing it for three whole hours whilst trying to focus on my assignment all morning. Because I apparently have nothing else I can do this Christmas when I’m all alone in this fucking city. But I can’t even do that properly with all this noise in the background, it’s very distracting. Could you just lower the volume or something?” Alec waves his hand vaguely in the air as he finishes his tirade. 

He is literally heaving with exertion, panting slightly after that rant. His neighbour blinks up at him, looking stunned, and it hits Alec right then what he had done. Mortification floods him at how he had just unleashed all of his frustrations on his poor neighbour. 

Oh god. What had he done. Fuck. 

His neighbour opens his mouth to speak, and Alec mentally steels himself for whatever harsh words he’s going to throw Alec’s way. Just like he had flung them in his neighbour’s face. Shit. Why was Alec always fucking up? He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Except what the man says is, “Are you okay?”

_Wait what?_

That question throws Alec off guard because no, that should be Alec’s line. He should be the one enquiring after his neighbour, given that he had just borne the brunt of Alec’s annoyance.

“Uh, I’m okay. Oh god, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. I think I got carried away for a second there. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is the first time I’m meeting you and I’ve just done that. I am so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my cool at you on Christmas. Or any day actually. I am so, so unbelievably sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I am really, really sorry.” Alec blabbers on helplessly, before turning and fleeing down the hallway. 

There is absolutely no way Alec can look his neighbor in the eye, not after that display. He spends the rest of the afternoon looking at realtor websites in case he has to move out and avoid his neighbour forever, and staring at his still-blank word document. Christmas is turning out to be absolutely rubbish this year. 

Not even the Zoom call he has with his family before dinner can cheer him up. It just makes him acutely aware of how much he’s missing them this year. However, he plasters on a smile and assures them that he’s doing just fine. They don’t need to know he’s struggling, he doesn’t want to burden them with this knowledge especially since they can’t do anything about it. 

Later in the evening, as he is munching on Chinese takeaway while watching Die Hard, there’s a knock on his door. Pausing the movie, he goes to open it only to find a gift bag hanging on his doorknob. He glances back out the door, hoping to see who had left the thoughtful gift, but the stairwell is empty. _Odd._ Maybe it’s a gift from his landlord, he ponders. But a quick inspection of other doorknobs reveals that no, it’s just him who has one

Retreating back into his apartment, he opens the bag to find gingerbread biscuits in them with a note on top. 

The note reads: 

_“Hi 6B,_

_I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time. I hope these biscuits will bring you some joy. Merry Christmas!_

_From Magnus (Your neighbour in 7B!)_

_PS. If you need someone to talk to, you may call me! 624-687-2263”_

He returns to his spot on the couch and ditches his cold chow mein in favour of these biscuits. They crumble perfectly in his mouth, soft and slightly warm still, indicating that they were fresh from the oven. A small smile unfurls across his face as he eagerly reaches back in for a second biscuit, the first one devoured in less than a minute. 

Maybe Christmas this year isn’t a complete loss. He doesn’t have his family, but he has a neighbour nice enough to bake and deliver him biscuits after his embarrassing meltdown. 


	8. #8 - Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Presents
> 
> Fun Fact: Gift wrapping has "a favourable influence on attitudes toward owning what is received" in that "gift wrapping, through repeated pairing with joyous events in people's lives, has utility in cuing a happy mood which, in turn, positively biases attitudes".
> 
> [Source: [Howard, 1992](https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1016/S1057-7408\(08\)80036-8)]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“PRESENTS, DADDY! PRESENTS, PAPA!” A little voice called out from behind the bedroom door.

A quick glance at the clock on their bedside table informs Alec that it is only five in the morning; far too early to be awake. Especially given the late night that he’d had with his husband. They had been up all night wrapping presents for their son. This was their second Christmas together and both men wanted to ensure that Max got to experience the full holiday season, something neither of them had the opportunity to do when they were Max’s age. 

Their choices of activities had bordered on cliché; they had visited Rockefeller Center, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the spectacular Christmas tree twinkling merrily in front of them. They had taken Max ice-skating in the rink in front of the tree. Although ice-skating was a bit of a stretch, perhaps ice-sliding was a more accurate term given how their clumsy little Blueberry had spent the entire hour tripping and falling over his skates. His fathers thanked the Angels above that the toddler had better control over his magic by now; the accidental outbursts were tapering off. Neither man was particularly keen on explaining their son’s penchant for floating in the air. 

Christmas season also brought with it Christmas food, seasonal drinks, biscuits, cakes, and candy. They had probably indulged their son’s sweettooth and fed him more sugar than medically advisable, but it was Christmas. And when Max’s delighted laughter filled the air, when they caught sight of his look of childlike wonder at the rides at the Christmas markets, his smile as he munched on the gingerbread biscuit, it was, for a lack of a better word, magical. 

And now on Christmas Day, they find themselves being roused at the crack of dawn by their eager son. Magnus snuggles deeper into the duvet and mutters under his breath, “Your son is at the door.”

Alec grunts, “isn’t he your son too?”

“Not at five fucking am,” is Magnus’ succinct reply.

“DADDY!!! PAPA!!! PRESENTS!!!” Max whines as his tiny fist bangs insistently again.

Knowing Max, he isn’t far off from accidentally blasting their bedroom door off its hinges ( _again_ ), and so, with great reluctance, Alec heaves himself out of bed. Slotting his feet into the bedroom slippers, which his husband had thoughtfully cast a warming spell over. They keep his feet nice and toasty, something he is grateful for, but that doesn’t stop him from casting a dark look at this slumbering husband as he gets out of bed.

Padding slowly towards the door, he opens it and sees Max bouncing excitedly on the spot. “Daddy! Christmas! Presents!! Presents!!”

Bending down to lift Max into his arms, Alec brushes a kiss into his blue tufts of hair, “Good morning, Blueberry. Merry Christmas” 

“Morning, Daddy,” Max chirps, before pointing in the direction of the living room, “Presents, Daddy. I want to open presents!!”

“Breakfast first, then presents alright?” Alec bargains, trying to buy some time before Max rips into the pile of gifts placed below their Christmas tree. He knows that Magnus would have his head if he allows their son to open _that_ gift.

Thankfully, French toast appears to be an acceptable bribe. The toddler is perched atop Alec’s shoulders, tiny hands tugging on the Shadowhunter’s hair as he enthusiastically cheers on his father’s cooking.

~~

“PAPA! Merry Christmas Papa! Presents!!” Max cheers when Magnus finally deigns to emerge from their bedroom, swanning into the dining room with a bright smile on his face. The toddler kicks his feet in excitement, nearly sending this plate flying from his high chair.

“Merry Christmas, Max!” 

Magnus ruffles his son’s hair before settling in the chair beside Alec, “Good morning, darling.”

“A good morning when I was woken up at five am, really?” Alec hisses back.

In lieu of a response, the warlock leans in to kiss his husband. There is the soft brush of lips, Magnus’ fingers running through the hair at his nape, and the brown eyes that bleed away to reveal bright yellow pupils. Alec muses how his husband knows his weaknesses. Even so, he can’t help but tease him, “I’m still annoyed at you, you know?”

“I know, and I will make it up to you tonight,” Magnus accompanies that statement with a cheeky wink and lick of his lips that has the Shadowhunter conjuring up mental images of what said compensation entailed. Which he promptly banishes from his mind, because they definitely fell under inappropriate thoughts at breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, Alec finally lifts Max out of his high chair after finishing breakfast. Freedom granted, the toddler sprints in the direction of their Christmas tree, too impatient to wait for his parents. 

As presents are unwrapped, it occurs to Alec that they may have gone slightly overboard with the presents this year, judging by the amount of wrapping paper littering their living room. There is probably more wrapping paper than carpet at this point. 

Max is delighted with the baby Potions kit that Magnus had given his young Potions disciple. Alec had argued for the need for an archery set as well-- if Magnus got to teach their son Potions. But a pointed “Do you honestly think giving our three year old, who is starting to get his magic under control, an archery set which could injure others is a good idea?” had shut him up. The promise to re-evaluate this decision a year later somewhat mollified him. And so Alec had sprung for a variety of toys, ranging from blocks, to stuffed animals and a train set.

While Max excitedly starts work on his train empire, Alec gives a nod to his husband, who snaps one last presence into existence. 

“Blueberry, we have one last present for you,” Alec says.

The young warlock glances up. “One more present?”

Magnus nods, “Yes Max, but this last present is special. It isn’t just a present, this is for life.” 

Simultaneously, Alec places a rather large box in front of Max. His interest piqued, the boy abandons his train building and shuffles to get a closer look at the box.

Right then, the box emits a whine and the confused look on Max’s face is replaced by one of hope and glee. “Daddy, is that a puppy? Did you get me a puppy?”

The top of the box wiggles and shakes, before it is pushed away by a furry grey head that pops up from within the box. Max gives a loud whoop, his tiny hands already darting forward to grab his new present. “A PUPPY! A PUPPY! THANK YOU, PAPA, THANK YOU, DADDY!!” he thanks them profusely while rubbing his face into the puppy’s fur coat. The new puppy is enjoying the attention, judging by its happy yips.

Magnus allows Max a few moments to fawn over his puppy before he kneels down to look his son in the eye. “Max, this is your new puppy, but this isn't just a toy. You have to care for him, and he will care for you in return,” he says, infusing as much seriousness as he can muster.

~~

This was no ordinary puppy. The couple’s search for a pet had begun a year ago when Max had developed a fascination with Chairman Meow. A fascination that the cat did not reciprocate. The feline creature would dart away from the baby warlock whenever he approached. There had been many a tear shed by their son, heartbroken by the fact that “ _kitty don wanna pway with me!!!_ ”

And so Magnus and Alec decided to look for a pet for Max. Magnus knew first hand the comfort that having a pet brought and he wanted that for his son. They finally settled on a puppy, except, _puppy_ was putting it lightly. 

While the dog looked like a fluffy Alaskan Malamute puppy with tufts of grey and white fur, they had actually gotten this puppy from a trainer friend of theirs. The puppy was trained to protect his young master always, a fact that the both of them were keen on. 

Magnus, being the overprotective Papa, went one step further and added a complex layer of spells to the puppy, which would allow him to perform his duty as Max’s protector, while Alec had pouted at how he couldn’t add a rune to said puppy as well. To placate his husband, Magnus suggested a collar for the Alaskan Malamute, which could be decorated with defensive runes.

~~

“What do you mean, Papa?”

Gesturing to the Malamute that is now snuggled in Max’s arms, tongue lolling out as it takes a break from whatever exhausting puppy duties it had just performed, Magnus explains, “While this puppy will play with you, it will also be your protector, for when Daddy and I aren’t by your side. It has spells cast and runes drawn on it to help protect you and keep you safe.”

Max seems slightly overwhelmed with all this new information, although it was understandable given that he was not particularly concerned with anything aside from having a new playmate. 

Magnus decides that the explanation for how this puppy could form a bond with Max in the future, a lifetime bond, that would allow their son to funnel his magic through the puppy, serving as support in battles or fights. That could wait for another day, or perhaps another year.

For now, the warlock reclines back on the couch, snuggled into his husband, as they watch their son resume his train empire building single-handedly. Literally, because one hand is assembling the train tracks while the other is stroking his furry companion’s hair, loath to let him out of his sight.


	9. #9 - Naughty/Nice List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Naughty/Nice List
> 
> Fun Fact: There is in fact a Department of Christmas Affairs in the North Pole Government, which publishes an actual [ Naughty/Nice List](https://www.christmasaffairs.com/docs/Naughty-and-Nice-List-2020.pdf). Here's to hoping your name is on that list.
> 
> [Source: As above]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Do you think you have been good this year, Alexander?” Magnus muses as he trails a finger down Alec’s cock, the sharp fingernail barely touching the hot and flushed skin, keeping his touch light. His husband expresses his displeasure, a whine escaping his throat as he fidgets under Magnus’ scrutiny.

“The best, Magnus,” Alec answers automatically, “please.”

The finger traces a path up Alec’s abs and circles his nipple, alternating between rubbing the nub and pinching it. “Are you sure? You shouldn’t lie to Santa, he has a naughty and nice list,” Magnus teases, brown eyes alight with mischief. His other hand reaches to push up the Santa hat that was falling into his eyes.

There’s a slight hesitation this time, hazel eyes glancing up at Magnus pleadingly, before he replies, “Yes, I have been good this year.”

“Lies,” Magnus leans down to bite a nipple, teeth raking the surface of his skin; he enjoys the choked gasp that escapes Alec’s lips, “Cheeky, aren’t you? If you were so good, why are you on my naughty list, hmm?”

“Fuck,” Alec curses, hands fisting in the bedsheets, trying not to touch his cock, or any part of Magnus, like the other man had ordered earlier when they stepped into the bedroom. Magnus can see that he is trying to be good, he will reward him for that later; but first, he has to be punished.

“Tsk, such a filthy mouth”, Magnus admonishes. 

“Shall we add cursing to the list as well? You have certainly been very naughty this year, Alexander. And do you know what happens to naughty boys?” Magnus asks, as he moves to sit astride Alec, hand grasping his husband’s erection in a loose grip.

“They don’t get orgasms?” Alec guesses, voice taking on a plaintive tone.

“They don’t get orgasms,” Magnus confirms, with far too much glee, “Naughty boys like you don’t deserve orgasms.”

Alec whimpers at that reply, “What if I promise to be good? Please Magnus, I will be so good for you.”

“And how will you be good?” The hand around Alec’s cock tightens, thumb reaching down to brush the head. 

“Anything, I’ll do anything,” Alec gasps out, squirming in frustration as the grip around his erection slackens. 

Right then, Magnus leans down and Alec’s erection brushes up against the clothed erection of his husband. His bare skin coming into contact with the rough fabric of the Santa suit Magnus is wearing. Alec can’t help but thrust up against him, trying to seek the friction he craves. 

~~

It had been thirty minutes since Magnus had come into the bedroom, clad in a Santa outfit that he had been trying on for Christmas Day tomorrow. 

“So Alexander, are you on the nice or naughty list this year?” Magnus had asked. Alec knew his husband was just teasing, but there was something about the sly smirk on his face, or the way he emphasised the word naughty, that sent Alec’s blood rushing south.

“Uh.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” his husband murmured, brown eyes darkening in arousal as he approached the bed.

~~

Thirty minutes later, and he is still no closer to coming. The Christmas tinsel that Magnus had swept across his sweat-stained skin, sending pinpricks of pain and pleasure across his body, lays abandoned at the foot of their bed.

As Alec thrusts his hips up again, Magnus crouches down, teeth teasing his ear lobe as he purrs, “Anything, you say?”

“Anything, anything, please, please,” Alec pleads; there’s an undernote of desperation in his voice as he screws his eyes shut once again, “Just. Anything you want, Magnus.”

“Open your eyes, darling, I want to see those eyes,” Magnus commands. And those eyelids flutter open to reveal dilated pupils, usually hazel eyes clouded over in a cloud of arousal. He reaches up to run his fingers across Alec’s flushed cheeks. “So beautiful,” he whispers, “so beautiful.”

“Hmm. Christmas is about the spirit of giving afterall, so perhaps I will be generous tonight, darling, but only if you promise to be good,” Magnus declares. He spares a fleeting thought for how Alec must be feeling, he has been hard for the past thirty minutes, his erection must be bordering on painful.

“Yes, yes, I will be good. I will be very good.” Alec agrees enthusiastically. 

Magnus grabs the lube and, coating his fingers generously, he reaches down to stroke Alec’s cock, slow but purposefully; his other hand drifts down towards his hole, thumb stroking around the puckered skin. By the moans that Alec is giving, he appears to be enjoying Magnus’ ministrations.

Considering how long he had been on edge, it doesn’t take more than ten strokes before Alec’s body stiffens and he comes with a groan of Magnus’ name; his head is thrown back in rapture, exposing the pale column of neck that Magnus can’t help but lean down to nip at, enjoying the taste that is part sweat and part-Alec.

“Fuck, that was so good,” Alec pants, as he comes down slowly from his high. His hands reach up in a grabby motion, a silent demand for his post-coital snuggles. But when his husband doesn’t fall into his arms, he cracks open one eye and sees Magnus with a look of horror on his face. He sits up quickly, careful not to dislodge his husband in his haste. 

“Magnus?” he prompts, “Is something wrong?”

“You are definitely going onto the naughty list this year.”

“What?”

“Look at my Santa outfit.”

Alec obligingly glances down, and _oh fuck_. The pristine red outfit is now streaked with stains of white. There was no way Magnus was putting on this Santa outfit tomorrow for their family gathering. And there was also no way that they could get a back-up outfit in time, given that Christmas Day was in an hour’s time.

“Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck indeed. Maybe it’s time to tell the kids that Santa isn’t actually real?” Magnus suggests.

“They are five and two, Magnus,” Alec throws his husband a withering glare.

“Your come, your problem,” Magnus retorts, earning another glare from his husband. He shuffles off Alec’s lap to strip off the ruined Santa outfit, before climbing back into Alec’s arms.

“We’ll think of something tomorrow,” Alec mumbles, voice heavy with sleepiness, as he throws an arm around Magnus’ waist, pulling him tight to his chest.

“Fine, fine. Goodnight Alexander.”

“Goodnight, love you.”

“I love you too.”


	10. #10 - Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Cookies
> 
> Fun Fact: Famous guests have visited the Cookie Monster and his friends on the Sesame Street set. And Sir Ian McKellan has given Cookie Monster **two** cookies.
> 
> [Source: [Cookie Monster's Reddit AMA](https://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/anu4u9/me_cookie_monster_me_want_you_to_come_visit_me_on/efw2hux?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

Magnus suddenly jerks awake, which is odd because he is quite a sound sleeper usually and had been fast asleep. It is both a blessing and a curse, he doesn’t take ages to fall asleep like his husband, tossing and turning in bed, resulting in a restless sleep. But it also means that he has overslept a number of alarms, causing him to miss important appointments if Alec isn’t there to wake him up.

That said, it is weird that he is awake at - he squints at the clock on the bedside table - five am. Five in the morning-- and he is awake. He groans out loud at the ungodly timing. Fuck that, there is no way he is getting out of bed at this hour. He turns over, ready to return into Morphesus’ arms, when he’s met by the sight of empty sheets. _Oh._ That explains it. He never did sleep very well when Alec wasn’t beside him.

He reaches out, palm brushing against the sheets, and finds them cold to the touch, indicating that his husband has been awake for quite some time. Before he can ponder Alec’s whereabouts further, there’s a muffled thump and a familiar voice cursing up a storm from outside their bedroom. _Ah, looks like Alec is home still._ That knowledge reassures Magnus slightly, because the Head of the Institute being dragged into work this early in the morning usually meant that there was a major emergency. It doesn’t ease the concern niggling at the back of his mind though. And so Magnus reluctantly pads out of the bedroom.

The loft is still dark; the sun hasn’t risen and it is pitch black outside. The lights are switched off, aside from the lone bulb turned on in the kitchen, casting a soft yellow glow over Alec’s hunched figure. As Magnus draws nearer to the kitchen, he sees his husband standing in front of the counter frowning down at his palm. 

“Alexander?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low to avoid spooking his husband.

Alec whirls around, a look of astonishment on his face, “Oh, hey Magnus. What are you doing out of bed?”

“Could ask you the same question,” the warlock replies warmly as he shuffles closer. He plasters his chest to Alec’s back, nuzzling into his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around the Shadowhunter’s waist. There are small goosebumps on his skin, probably from the chilly air; one snap of the warlock’s fingers fills the kitchen with warmth. 

Alec’s back relaxes fractionally. “Thank you,” he says as he turns his attention back to the dough, coloured a dark-brown colour, in front of him.

“Are you alright?” the warlock inquires as his thumb rubs soothing circles into Alec’s abs.

“Yeah, I just accidentally knocked a cup over,” he waves in the direction of the sink, which contain the shattered remnants of a glass cup, “while kneading the dough.”

The warlock’s fingers cease their rubbing before reaching up to tug at Alec’s palms; he tiptoes and leans over the Shadowhunter’s shoulders to get a closer look. “I’m fine, Magnus,” Alec reassures him. It doesn’t stop the warlock from casting a healing spell on his husband’s hands just in case, it never hurts to be more cautious, after all. 

“Be careful,” Magnus chastises. He presses a kiss to Alec’s cheek before nuzzling into the crook by his neck. “What are you making?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m making gingerbread cookies,” Alec answers.

“At this hour?” 

Alec hums in response, fingers continuing to work at the dough, arms tensing as he kneads it.

“Alexander,” the warlock breathes out. His voice is soft and pleading, pleading with his husband to tell him what is wrong; he can’t fix things when he doesn’t know what the problem is.

The Shadowhunter’s back tenses for a minute and his fingers still, before he reaches up to squeeze his husband’s fingers in a comforting gesture, “It’s nothing,” he dismisses the warlock’s concern, “I just had a nightmare.”

Magnus tightens his grip around his husband, one hand reaching up to rest against Alec’s chest, the gentle thumps of his heart ever so comforting. “The same one?” he whispers. There’s a noticeable waver in his tone, as if slightly fearful of the answer, but needing to find out nevertheless.

“Yeah,” Alec answers reluctantly, head bent down, focusing hard on the dough. He is kneading with far too much strength, the dough is probably overworked by now, but Magnus allows his husband that semblance of comfort.

“I’m here, Alexander, I will always be here.”

“I know, I just -” he breaks off halfway, one hand darts up to swipe at his face roughly. The tremble of his shoulders and heaving of his chest is a dead giveaway.

And Magnus can’t do this without facing his husband directly; he withdraws his arms, hands gently tugging at Alec’s shoulders to turn him around. “Oh Alexander, darling,” he murmurs, hands reaching up to cradle his husband’s face. The Shadowhunter’s hazel eyes are blurred by the tears running down his face. Magnus brushes away his tears tenderly, before he draws his husband into a hug. 

He runs his palm up and down Alec’s back in soothing motions while the other hand combs through tousled black curls. “I’m here, darling, take your time, alright, I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you, Magnus,” Alec chokes out through his sobs, voice slightly muffled from where his nose is pressed into the side of Magnus’ neck, seeking the familiar smell of his husband.

“Whatever you need, take your time,” Magnus whispers back, continuing the rhythmic motions of his hands. He can feel the tears, wet on his neck, and it makes his heart ache for his husband. His strong husband, the man who is Magnus’ rock, the one who usually gives out comfort, rather than receiving it. To see him reduced to tears, god, it was as if someone had drawn the Agony rune on him all over again. 

Magnus will do anything and everything to erase that traumatic day from their memories, wipe that moment of sheer terror and horror they had both gone through, but he knows that won’t solve anything. He smiles sadly at the thought. Memory spells never did banish his problems away, he had very nearly let this all slip through his fingers.

He can’t erase this memory for the both of them, but what he can do, however, is be here for Alexander. Be here, supporting and loving him, and offering him the reassurance and comfort that he needs. 

He briefly wonders if there will ever be a day where their lives ease up, where they won’t be plagued and haunted by nightmares.

They have forever, one can only hope that one day that will happen.


	11. #11 - Cuddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Cuddle
> 
> Fun Fact: This fic initially ended on a cliffhanger, but my wonderful beta [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce) added the happy (or slightly happier) ending!

Magnus rakes his hands through his hair harshly, unheeding of the blood caked on his fingers that leaves flakes in his usually pristine hair. He taps his foot against the floor anxiously, the heel of his boot creating a rhythmic tap against the linoleum floor. The cheap plastic chair emits a loud squeak as he fidgets impatiently, earning a reproachful look from the elderly lady sitting opposite him in the family waiting room. But he barely registers it, he has barely processed anything from the past hour. 

How could he when his attention, and his heart, is in the operating room three corridors down, where his husband is currently fighting for his life? 

Fighting for his life because… because of him. He scrubs at his hands, trying to get the blood out; the friction from his thumbs prove useless. He attacks the blood with more vigour, scraping at it with his nails, his sharp nails cutting into his skin, creating pinpricks of pain. As he scratches at his skin uselessly, his nail pierces the epidermis layer; droplets of blood flow out of his newly created wounds. Fresh red blood trickles down, bright red mixing with the dull red blood of his husband.

He can feel rivulets of tears flowing down his cheeks; he dashes them away with a swipe of his back hand. _No, Magnus, not now_ , he admonishes himself, because _now_ is absolutely not the time to break down. As he trails his thumb over the wedding ring adorning his finger, leaving bloody red smears in its wake, he wonders how it had all gone to shit. 

~~

They had been busy the past month, his husband preparing for a major class action lawsuit, while he had been working on the final draft of his manuscript. The day he had pressed send on the email, his thoughtful husband had surprised him with a date night. 

“What about Max?” Magnus had asked.

“All taken care of,” his husband replied cheerfully, “Jace and Izzy will babysit him.”

“Thank goodness Izzy will be there too, there is no way I am trusting Jace with our son,” he teased.

His husband had laughed, “I know. You deserve a night out, a night with just the two of us, to celebrate properly.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said, leaning up to brush a kiss against his husband’s lips, “I love you.”

“I love you. And I am so fucking proud of you,” he replied earnestly, before connecting their lips again.

The dinner had gone well, they had visited the hole-in-the-wall Ethiopian restaurant that they had frequented in the early days of their relationship. Magnus had teased his husband for being a sap. 

After dinner, his husband had wanted to go home, to relieve Izzy and Jace (but mostly Jace) of their babysitting responsibilities. 

But Magnus, fucking stupid Magnus, had sent his husband a pleading pout. “We don’t go out that often. How about a drink before we go back? We can take a look at the Christmas lights along the way. And you can take photographs of them!”

And his fucking doting husband had agreed. If only he hadn’t. If only he had told Magnus no. But Alec never could deny Magnus much, and so off to the bar they had gone. Except before they could reach the bar, an inebriated man had charged at them with a knife. 

The local police had warned of a spike in knife crime recently, but it was one of those things you thought happened to other people. It was one of those things that happened if you went to the seedy areas of town, not on the main road. His husband and himself had taken precautions, but they hadn’t gone out of their way to hide at home or anything drastic.

They weren’t the drunkard’s intended targets, judging by the shout of “Valentine, you fucking bastard.” But that didn’t matter, not when Alec had shoved Magnus behind him protectively as the attacker lunged forward with the knife, the silver of the blade glinting; the light cast on it coming from the Christmas lights twinkling merrily above them. 

And as the knife sank in, the attacker seemed to realise the seriousness of the situation. He turned tail and fled. Not that Magnus cared much, not when his husband had staggered forward, the knife still lodged in his side, blood flowing forth from it freely.

“Magnus,” his husband mumbled through choked breaths as hazel eyes blinked up at him blearily, “are you okay?” 

“Oh god, oh god,” Magnus repeated over and over again, staring at the knife sticking out of his husband’s flank. It didn’t belong there, it shouldn’t be there. It looked… wrong. 

Thankfully, his instincts kicked into gear as he quickly shed his coat, pressing it to the stabbed area; the coat rapidly soaked up the blood sputtering forth. _Apply pressure to the area_ , that was what his first aid course in the third year of college had taught him. Who knew it would come in handy one day?

A passerby had called for the ambulance while Magnus fretted over his husband. Within ten minutes, they were whisked away in an ambulance, sirens blaring, as it hurtled down the roads at breakneck pace, as if it was a matter of life or death. Except it really was, wasn’t it, Magnus thought wryly to himself, it was truly a matter of life or death.

Once they arrived at the hospital, his husband had been rushed towards the surgery rooms and Magnus had been directed towards the family waiting room by a friendly nurse. She had kindly left behind a wet towel and a clipboard of admission forms to fill out.

Logically, he knew he ought to clean up first, but as he reached for the towel, his hands hovered over the clipboard. Grabbing it, he decided to complete the forms first, in a misguided notion that maybe if he submitted them quicker, they would operate on his husband quicker. 

It was easy to lose himself in the mundane task of filling up forms, it was comforting in some sense. Each question kept his husband at the forefront of his mind, reminding him that he was alive, he was still alive. The routine keeps his thoughts anchored in his husband, recalling things that he knew about him.

Name: Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane

Age: Thirty One

Birth Date: 09/12/1989

~~

Now that the forms have been submitted, he has nothing to occupy his thoughts. He is deciding whether to approach the counter to ask for an update when there is a commotion by the entrance and a group of people tumble through the door. 

“Magnus!”

“Alec, how’s Alec?”

“Oh my god, Magnus, are you okay?”

The newcomers pepper him with questions, but all he can focus on is his son, currently sobbing in Jace’s arms. 

“Sorry, he has been crying since you missed his bedtime story and we didn’t, uhh have an explanation, not until the call,” Jace explains with a wince as he transfers his nephew into his father’s arms.

“PAPA,” Max sobs out, “where. Where were you? Papa. I waited. Papa. Where’s Daddy? Papa, Daddy.”

“Oh, Blueberry,” Magnus breathes out, holding his son tight to his body. His eyes flutter close as he nuzzles into his son’s hair, taking in the familiar smell of the blueberry shampoo he loved. _He’s safe, he’s safe_ , Magnus tells himself, trying to calm his racing heart. 

“We didn’t tell him anything yet,” Izzy chimes in when Magnus gives her a questioning look. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. He knows he will have to explain things to Max eventually. Even if, no-- _when_ , he corrects himself, _when_ Alec comes out of the operating room, there will be a lengthy recuperation period. 

But, at least for tonight, he wants to protect his son. Just, one more night, before he shatters his son’s world. 

Max’s small frame is heaving with loud sobs as he wails, feet kicking painfully into Magnus’ stomach. “Max, Papa’s here, Papa’s here,” he murmurs into his son’s ear.

“You were gone,” Max accuses, pulling back from the hug to glare at his father, “I waited, Papa.”

“I know, Max, you are such a good boy for waiting,” Magnus brings a hand up to brush his son’s tears away, before hastily tucking it behind him. No, there is no way he is touching his son’s face, not when his fingers are still bloodied.

Jace taps him on the shoulder then, and gives him the wet towel the nurse had handed Magnus earlier. He sends his brother-in-law a grateful smile as he dries Max’s tears and his hands at the same time.

“Papa’s here, and Daddy’s coming soon okay. Go to sleep, Blueberry,” Magnus coaxes, hating himself just a little bit for the white lie. 

“Soon? Pwomise?”

“Promise.” Magnus has never broken a promise to his son, and he hopes to hell that this isn’t the first one he breaks.

“Okayyyy,” Max answers, before snuggling back into his Papa’s arms.

Sinking back into the waiting room chair, Magnus cuddles Max closer, seeking comfort from the small boy, who appears to be tuckered out from his crying episode. “Sleep Max,” he whispers, heaving a sigh of relief when the boy’s eyelids flutter close.

“Is,” Maryse hesitates before ploughing on, “is Alec okay?”

Magnus tilts his head back to rest against the wall. “No idea, we are still waiting.”

“He’ll be alright,” Jace claps an arm around Magnus’ shoulders, careful not to jolt his drowsing nephew, “Alec’s a fighter.”

“You should have seen him when the doctor told him he couldn’t play basketball anymore because of his ruptured knee,” Izzy recounts with a small and sad smile, “he fought so hard, countless hours of therapy over the summer. And that stubborn idiot was so smug when he stood on the court the next season.”

Maryse slides into the chair beside him, brushing his hair gently, just like he does for Max when his son needs comfort. 

When he had first met Alec’s family, he had been terrified, but they had welcomed him, like a second (or rather, third) son. They had accepted him into their folds, and Maryse had doted on him so much, Alec had once pouted at how he had been displaced as the favourite son. 

Maryse was like a mom to him, and now, he is ever so grateful for her. She must be filled with worry over her son, and yet is still sitting here comforting Magnus.

“Maryse, what if, what if,” he murmurs, careful to make sure his son doesn’t overhear.

“My boy, don’t,” she replies in a firm tone, “don’t think about that. It will do you no good. We, we have to believe Alec will be fine. He is a warrior, he will come through this.”

Magnus knows all of this, but until the doctor comes out and tells him that his husband is indeed fine, all he can do is cuddle his son closer. 

He tucks Blueberry closer to his chest, and silently continues his vigil.

Alec will be fine, he tells himself, he will be, he has to be...

And he is! They all look up, mixes of dread and hope in their expressions when a nurse steps into the waiting room and calls out “Family of Alexander Lightwood-Bane?”

Izzy ushers her over and they wait on the edge of their seats for news of what has happened, how Alec is, _if_ Alec even still is. Magnus clutches his sleeping son closer. His voice is choked, barely holding back tears when he asks, “How is he?”

The nurse has a friendly smile. Magnus hopes it’s a good sign. “We were able to remove the knife and get him stabilised. He’ll have a rough healing process, but he’s okay.”

Magnus nearly collapses as relief floods him. He presses his face into Max’s hair to hide his wet eyes. Alec is okay, his husband is okay, their family is okay. He can finally breathe again.


	12. #12 - Ugly Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Ugly Sweater
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“No, absolutely not,” Alec shakes his head, inching away from his husband slowly, trying to put some distance between him and that _traitor_.

“You have to,” Magnus replies with far too much glee in his voice, completely ignoring Alec’s vociferous protests.

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” his husband deadpans, earning a wounded look from Alec. “Look, you lost the bet, so this is your punishment.”

Alec crosses his arms and gives him a dark glare, “I maintain that you cheated.”

“And the results beg to differ. I won, fair and square.”

“You threw a banana peel at me!” Alec jabs an accusing finger in Magnus’ direction, “That is not something a loving husband does!”

“Alexander,” Magnus explains with all the patience of a man used to dealing with his husband’s childish antics, “I love you, but all is fair in Mario Kart.”

“Should have specified that in the vows,” comes the snarky retort.

Magnus laughs at that. “Too late now, darling, the refund period is over unfortunately, so you are stuck with me for life. Also, if you don’t put this on now, we’re going to be really late for the party. And you know how Ragnor gets when we do that.”

“I don’t care, I am absolutely not donning that fucking ugly sweater!” Alec shoots back. And there’s that stubborn clench of his jaw that Magnus recognises as his husband digging his heels in on an issue. 

“Either you wear it, or you go shirtless.” Magnus threatens, shoving the offending garment in Alec’s direction.

At the mischievous glint in Alec’s hazel eyes, he quickly interjects, “don’t you think about going shirtless, Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane.”

“But it’s so ugly,” and now, Alec has evidently decided to switch to whining, likely due to the inefficacy of his earlier protests.

“And yet, you would have made me wear it if I had lost the bet, wouldn’t you?” Magnus reasons, although he does wonder if that line of argument will work given how Alec has obviously decided to throw rationality out the window. Honestly, how on earth is going shirtless any better than wearing the jumper?

Magnus is a proponent of his husband’s chest, because, _damn_ , have you seen it? He contends that anyone who sees it will agree with his stance that Alexander’s chest is a blessing to this world, not that he is keen on blessing others with that sight. No, that is only for one Magnus Lightwood-Bane to see. It says so in their vows, probably in Subsection 5 Clause 6.

“But you look nice in everything! You would have absolutely rocked that sweater!” Alec argues earnestly, bottom lip sticking out in an adorable pout.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Magnus steps forward slowly, a small part of him enjoying the growing look of horror dawning on Alec’s face as he realises that Magnus is not backing down on this. 

Alec tries to retreat down the corridor slowly before sprinting full hilt towards their bedroom, tossing a cushion in his wake as an obstacle.

His husband gives chase, deftly evading both the cushion and the bedroom door that nearly slams in his face, before jump-tackling Alec to their bed, both men landing with a muffled thump. 

“Gotcha! Now, put on that sweater,” Magnus orders as he shuffles off his husband, allowing the man the space to tug the sweater on. 

“Fine, fine,” Alec grumbles, well-aware that he is truly cornered and has no way out of this predicament. His head finally pokes through the hole, hair sticking up in tufts from the static electricity. The grumpy expression on his face is at odds with the brightly grinning Santa on the jumper, happily declaring “Merry Kiss-My-Ass!”

“For the record, you absolutely cheated at Mario Kart, and I will definitely be revisiting our vows tonight,” Alec has apparently decided that Mario Kart is the hill that he would like to die on, but Magnus can’t really be bothered, not when his husband looks utterly delightful in that ugly sweater of his.

“Merry Kiss-My-Ass indeed, darling!” Magnus cheerfully wishes him, reaching up to peck his husband’s lips, “And you could do that, or you could allow me to kiss your ass.”

At his husband’s flustered sputters, Magnus cackles brightly as he shoves the other man in the direction of the door, “Come on Alexander, we are going to be late for the party. Let’s go.”


	13. #13 - Decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Decorating
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“You want to change it, don’t you?” Magnus comments as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. It is a blustery evening, and Magnus is snuggled into his husband’s side, tucked under a blanket, as they watch a Christmas movie. Or rather, he watches the movie. His husband’s attention is diverted elsewhere.

“No,” comes the economist’s immediate denial. 

The editor snorts and hides his smirk behind his cup. Who is Alec kidding, Magnus knows him like the back of his hand. Although it is cute how the other man still thinks he can get away with these things after so many years. “Are you sure?” he asks.

The hand thrown around his shoulder starts fidgeting, fingers tapping on Magnus’ bicep. “Mmhm, it looks good. I like it. The boys did a good job with it,” his husband maintains, the twitching of his fingers betraying his words.

“If you say so, Alexander,” Magnus answers, bringing up a hand to pat his husband’s chest, somewhat patronisingly, to the chagrin of the other man. 

“Hey, it really looks brilliant,” Alec insists. A hand darts down swiftly to pinch Magnus’ flank for that remark.

“That’s good, I’m glad you agree,” Magnus says. On screen, the Polar Express train has pulled up to Billy’s doorstep. “So, do you think the boys would board the Polar Express if it came to our door?”

“Max would race on board instantly, and as for Rafe- ” Alec replies, before he finally decides that he can’t hold his outburst back any longer, “okay, no, is it just me, or does our tree look wonky?”

Magnus flicks a glance at the tree twinkling merrily beside their television screen and he can’t resist the urge to tease the economist. “Wonky? How so?” he questions, keeping his tone light and evasive. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Alec has that tiny wrinkle in his brow and that his bottom lip is sticking out in a pout.

His husband flings a hand in the direction of their tree in lieu of a verbal response, although calling it a tree was rather generous. It looks horrible after their sons had decorated it earlier this afternoon. It is terribly lopsided with the ornaments covering only the bottom of the tree, primarily because hip height was the highest that Rafe could reach. The tinsel has been tossed haphazardly around the tree, as if a tinsel fairy had thrown up all over it. A tinsel fairy either drunk off their arse or with horrible taste in decorating. Or maybe both. Honestly, it could be both.

The angel they usually placed on top of the tree had been replaced with Rafe’s Captain America figure, which their four year old declared to be better than the “lame ass angel.” Alec had muttered under his breath about reviewing Jace’s babysitting hours when Rafe dropped the ‘ass’ word, something Magnus wholeheartedly agreed with.

Magnus had tried to convince Max that the top of the tree needed some decorations too, but the two-year old stubbornly refused. “I wanna touch the on’mens, Papa, and Meow wanna pway too” he declared, with those puppy eyes of his. 

And like the reasonable and firm father that Magnus had sworn to be when raising their children, he told his son that, no, decorating the tree involved compromising, which meant some ornaments had to go on the higher branches as well. Or rather, that’s what he wished he did, instead of caving to those cursed puppy eyes. Those puppy eyes that Alec had mastered to perfection and evidently passed on to their son. That _evil_ mastermind.

Letting their sons loose with the decorations might have been both the best and worst idea ever. Both boys greatly enjoyed the festivities, placing the ornaments on the tree while singing along to the Christmas music blasting from Magnus’ phone. Yet, the fathers now had to contend with the eyesore in the middle of their living room for the next month.

“Hmm, I can see that there is some room for improvement perhaps,” Magnus concedes, “but do you want to be the one to let the boys down tomorrow morning?”

There’s silence from Alec, whether because he is mulling over the question, or because he knows he has lost the argument, Magnus has no idea.

“Imagine explaining to Blueberry tomorrow morning why his favourite Paw Patrol ornament is hanging on a branch out of his reach,” he presses, “Or explaining to Rafe why Captain America has been displaced by your frankly horrifying angel.”

Alec huffs in exasperation, “I’m not a monster, I’m not going to do that! And I’ll have you know that the angel is a family heirloom!”

“I know you aren’t,” Magnus answers, before taking pity on his husband, and softening his tone, “Look, I agree the tree is rather hideous, but it makes the boys happy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alec sighs; he presses a kiss into Magnus’ hair before continuing, “we barely got them to stop staring at the tree ever since the decorations went up. I think I’ve got at least two hundred pictures of this tree on my phone.”

Mangus’ lips tug up slightly because Rafe is indeed quite the photographer, a hobby Alec is more than happy to encourage. 

Under the Christmas tree lies a box containing a beginner’s DSLR, and both parents can’t wait for him to open it on Christmas Day. It had taken Alec five weeks of pleading and expert puppy eyes before Magnus budged on spoiling their son with such an expensive gift.

Patting his husband’s thigh consolingly, Magnus comforts him, “how about I buy you another tree that you can decorate to your heart’s content?”

Alec perks up slightly at that, “Another tree? But where would it go?”

“Another tree, for you and your five thousand opinions on ornaments,” the editor jests, “But I honestly wouldn’t mind getting you a smaller tree that can fit in our home office.”

“You would do that?”

“Anything for you, darling,” Magnus leans back to brush a kiss against Alec’s lips, before turning back to the screen, “Now, stop focusing on the tree and watch the movie. The ticket has just gone missing.”

“You know what happens to the ticket,” Alec muses, “we have seen this movie every year for the past decade.”

“It’s a Christmas tradition, now shush.”

Alec huffs before tugging his husband closer to him. “Alright, alright, let’s watch the movie.”


	14. #14 - Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: Toys
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

The car has barely rolled to a halt before the door is being pushed open eagerly. “Bye Mom,” Alec calls out, one foot already out the door, “See you later!”

He sprints down the sidewalk into the school building, dodging the wave of people blocking his way. Do these people have nothing better to do than to loiter in the walkways? Alec has important business that he needs to get to, and these people are in his way. But finally, he locates his classroom, and bursts through the door. 

“Magnus, Magnus!” he exclaims at the sight of his bestest friend in the whole galaxy. The whole galaxy, because just the world isn’t enough for how awesome Magnus is. 

~~

The other boy had transferred into Alec’s school a year ago and they became fast friends when they were assigned to sit next to each other. Alec had initially been nervous because the previous boy who had sat next to him, Victor, had been mean. Alec had tried to make conversation, bringing out his favourite National Geographic book on volcanoes, but the other boy had just ripped a page out of his book. The teachers had separated the both of them, leaving Alec alone until Magnus. 

He had been worried that Magnus would be like Victor, but to his delight, he was wrong. He and Magnus had clicked immediately, bonding over their love for nature and sports. While Alec wasn’t an outcast, he had trouble making friends because no one seemed to like the same things as him. Not until Magnus. 

The weekly playdates and monthly sleepovers they had at Alec’s house cemented the bond of friendship between both boys.

~~

Magnus twists around in his seat when he hears his name and his face brightens at the sight of his best friend, “Alexander! You are here!”

Alec throws himself into the seat beside Magnus, panting slightly from his morning sprint down the corridor. “I missed you Magnus! Also! Did you have a good Christmas? Did you get presents? I have the coolest present ever. Let me show you!” he blurts out, one hand already unzipping his backpack.

“I missed you too, Alexander, I feel like we haven’t seen each other forever,” his friend replies with a pout on his face, before brightening, “Ooh, what did you get for Christmas? Did you get the book you wanted?”

Alec frowns slightly at his friend avoiding his question, but that is quickly overridden by his desire to show off his new book. He finally tugs it out of his backpack and places it on the table with a loud thump. “I did!” he crows, “See. The Illustrated Guide to Rocks and Minerals! And my dad got me a new lion. And a sandbox! We can dig up rocks!”

Magnus lets out a whoop of joy at the sight of the book and bounces in his seat eagerly, “Can I see the book?”

“Yeah, of course,” Alec flips the book open, and reads aloud, “It has eight hundred photos, Magnus!”

“Eight hundred, wow,” his friend repeats in an awestruck voice. Because eight hundred is a lot. They can both count up to a hundred. And eight hundred is more than one hundred! They will take forever to go through everything.

As they both browse through the book, admiring the rock crystals, Alec pipes up with his question, “So what did you get for Christmas?” Because they had a deal, whatever toys Alec had, Magnus could play with as well. And vice versa. It meant double the toys for them! And Alec was eager to find out what new toys his friend got.

His friend’s shoulders slump slightly, and his hands still over the book. “I didn’t get any,” Magnus admits in a small voice.

“Why? It’s Christmas!” Alec asks. Because kids get presents for Christmas, that was what the holiday season was all about. Well, that and the family stuff his mom loved to talk about. But Alec isn’t very interested in that, not when he has a new stuffed lion to play with and a sandbox to explore.

“Because Mom got me a present two weeks ago already. For my birthday,” Magnus explains. The other boy had been delighted with his new backpack - a Sesame Street one - and his new stuffed shark. 

Alec is confused. “But that’s your birthday. Not Christmas! Christmas presents are different from birthday presents,” he points out. He doesn’t make the rules, but if he did, he would definitely make this a rule because his friend deserves all the presents.

Magnus shrugs. “My mom said she cannot get me a new toy. Because I have a shark already.”

That doesn’t make sense, Alec had a giraffe, then his dad got him a lion. “That sounds confusing,” he declares, “you always need more toys.”

“I know,” Magnus’ face falls slightly as his fingers stroke the pages of Alec’s new book carefully, “but mom says maybe next year she can get me more toys.”

“It’s okay, you can share my toys for now,” Alec informs him, patting his friend on the shoulder. “We have a deal, remember?”

“Yeah! Hey, does this mean I can play in your sandbox this afternoon?”

Alec nods his head enthusiastically, “Yes, yes, I asked my mom this morning and she says you can come over today. She will make your favourite fried banana!”

“Pisang goreng? Your mom is making that?” Magnus checks, with a bright grin on his face at the prospect of the afternoon snack. 

“Yeah huh. She says your mom taught her how to make it!”

“Cool! I can’t wait. My mom hasn’t made that in soooooo long. I miss it.”

Right then Mr Garroway enters the classroom, cutting their conversation short, but both boys seal the deal with a fist bump.

“After school,” Alec promises, “we will play in the best sandbox ever. And eat all the fried bananas you want.”


	15. #15 - Carolling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Carolling
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

Alec has barely settled in the plush auditorium seat when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and finds a message from his boyfriend.

_From: Magnus Babe_

_Are you here? I need you_

He frowns at that, feeling a pinprick of worry at the back of his mind as he rises from his seat. Magnus should be preparing for the carolling concert, not texting him now.

_From: Alexander Light-of-my-life_

_I’m here! Will go down to find you! Coming soon!_

“Sorry Iz,” he apologises when his sister shoots him an inquiring glance, as he shuffles down the row, “Magnus needs me.” Pushing past the throngs of people making their way into the theatre, he slowly but gradually makes his way backstage.

“Alec! You are here! Thank goodness! Magnus is in a right state!” Clary exclaims the instant she catches sight of him. An arm shoots out to tug at his shirt sleeve, pulling him along. He throws apologetic glances at the crew and cast members he crashes into while being dragged along by a very determined Clary.

Finally, she leads him to a quiet corner backstage where Magnus is pacing up and down and fiddling with the phone in his hand.

“Magnus, Alec’s here,” Clary calls out as she shoves Alec forward. “Good luck, and don’t take too long, the concert starts in fifteen minutes,” she whispers, before leaving to give them a modicum of privacy.

“Alexander,” Magnus breathes out. And Alec opens his arms, enveloping his boyfriend into his embrace, clutching Magnus tightly to his chest. He feels the tension ease out of Magnus’ taut frame as he all but collapses into Alec’s arms. 

“Are you okay?” Alec whispers.

“I’m… fuck… I have no idea why, but I’m nervous,” his boyfriend mumbles into the crook of Alec’s neck, fingers clenched tight in the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey, you’ll be alright. You’ve got this, babe,” Alec reassures him while rubbing his palm up and down his boyfriend’s back. The pinprick of worry that had been building has now escalated into gut clenching anxiety. Because this isn’t Magnus’ first concert, he has performed in front of bigger crowds. There isn’t any reason for him to suddenly develop stage fright. Alec abandons that train of thought; it was of no help, not when he has a boyfriend to comfort.

When Magnus continues to nuzzle into Alec’s shirt in lieu of a response, Alec gently pulls back to look him in the eyes. Those warm brown eyes are brimming with unshed tears and his lips are twisted in a grimace. “What’s wrong, Magnus? Is everything okay? You can tell me if there’s something wrong, you know that, right?” Alec urges as he brushes his boyfriend’s tears away.

“I’m… just scared,” the other boy admits, glancing down at his shoes as if ashamed of that confession.

“Oh babe, I will be here for you, waiting in the wings, every step of the way. And hey, just imagine the audience in their underwear, I’ve heard that works for others,” Alec jokes, trying to pry a smile out of Magnus.

It doesn’t really work, he doesn’t get a smile, but he gets a teary chuckle, and well, he’ll take what he can get. “If you’re in the audience, I don’t think that will work very well,” Magnus retorts. Even when he is upset, his cheekiness shines through, Alec smiles fondly at that.

“You can always hide behind Jace, he’s tall.”

Alec had thought that the jokes would ease Magnus’ nervousness, but somehow that last remark causes the other boy’s shoulder to slump as his face falls in misery. “That’s the thing,” Magnus chokes out, “I can’t. I, I actually have a solo today? I wanted to surprise you. So much for that.”

The self-deprecating laugh that slips out of Magnus’ lips is the saddest thing that Alec has ever heard, because to this day, it boggles him how mind-blowingly talented the other boy is. And it just guts Alec that his boyfriend doesn’t see this. 

“Magnus, that’s a brilliant surprise! I’m so proud of you!”

“Don’t. Not, not when I am in _this_ ,” Magnus says fiercely while gesticulating in the vague direction of his tear-stained face, “state.” 

Alec brings his hands up to cradle Magnus’ face. “Magnus, I am always proud of you,” he sweeps his thumbs across his boyfriend’s ruddy red cheeks, punctuating each word with a peck on Magnus’ lips. “Always. Look, Mr Garroway wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t think you were awesome.”

“I know, it’s just, y’know, the thought of everyone, with all eyes on me, it scares me.”

“I know babe, I know,” Alec soothes, but before he can continue Clary bursts in. 

“One minute, Magnus! Quick, we have to get into positions!” she reminds them, before dashing off, probably to drag some other errant performer into position.

With a woeful smile and shrug of his shoulders, Magnus reluctantly tears himself from Alec’s arms. But not before Alec ducks down to brush their lips together, a ‘Good luck’, and an ‘I love you’ wrapped up in one kiss. 

“If you get nervous, just know that I will be watching from the side, rooting for you alright?” he reminds the other boy.

“Thanks, Alexander, I love you,” Magnus murmurs, eyes trying to convey his gratefulness. 

“Love you too. Now go out there and kick ass,” Alec replies with a smile, before trailing after his boyfriend. 

Looks like he is getting a stage-side seat for this concert.


	16. #16 - Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Party
> 
> This is sort of a continuation of Day 12's fic (which had the prompt 'Ugly Sweater')
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Finally! You idiots are late, and everyone is here already!” Ragnor drawls out when he opens the door. He huffs when Magnus shoves a tin at his chest none-too-gently. 

Magnus rolls his eyes and pushes a sputtering Alec forward. “Blame my husband, he refused to put on his sweater, and had to be bribed.” 

“Hey,” Alec protests as they head towards the living room, “it’s hideous. And I had a perfectly appropriate Christmas sweater!”

“Your sweater was a plain blue one, there is nothing remotely festive about that,” Magnus deadpans, before turning his attention to his friend, “this is such a delightful sweater, don’t you think so, my dear, Ragnor?”

“Nope, nope, nope! I want no part of your weird sexual mind games,” Ragnor deftly sidesteps the question. He is definitely not wading into another argument between the couple. Being caught in the crossfires was an unpleasant experience, one he had learnt on repeated occasions. While Magnus was his old friend, harking back to their elementary school days, Ragnor had developed a soft spot for his friend’s husband over the past decade. 

Both of them had met Alec in college, with Magnus having the fortune, or rather, misfortune at that time, of being assigned as Alec’s roommate. Ragnor had his ear talked off the whole of the first semester by Magnus about how Alec was a fucking idiot who left his clothes all over the floor, how Alec had terrible taste in music, blasting Coldplay all day long, how Alec studied at weird hours of the night, how Alec would keep offering Magnus food, which was secretly a ploy to fatten him up, how Alec liked to walk about shirtless in the room. Ragnor wasn’t really sure where the frustration about the last complaint stemmed from, because Magnus was no prude. He had even offered to go with Magnus down to the Accommodation Office to put in a request for a transfer, but his friend would make excuses about not being the one to cave in.

It wasn’t until he came back from Christmas break that it all made sense. When he had left for London, both boys were barely on speaking terms after Magnus blew up about the state of their floor, which was more stinky t-shirts than carpet. Yet when he came back, he was stunned to find the both of them snuggled up to each other in the common room. “We talked things out,” is all the explanation he got. 

Even a decade later, neither of them have revealed what happened over that first Christmas break, even when plied with copious amounts of alcohol. It doesn’t stop Ragnor and the rest from speculating. The theories ranged from, how the arguments between them stemmed from unresolved sexual tension which had reached its breaking point, to how Alec had won Magnus over with his delicious gingerbread biscuits, to perhaps Alec saving his life, prompting Magnus to fall in love with his hero.

“What’s this?” Ragnor gently lifts the lid of the tin and peers inside to find an assortment of biscuits cut in various shapes, ranging from Christmas trees, to gingerbread men, to… squiggly lines. He squints slightly at that.

“Poison,” Magnus retorts with a cheeky grin, “we are trying to poison you.”

Alec sighs in exasperation at his husband’s childish attempt to wind their friend up, “they’re gingerbread biscuits, I know you like them, and we baked a bunch when Madzie came over yesterday.”

 _Ah, that certainly explains the squiggly lines_.

“Brilliant, thanks Alec! Come on, let’s go join the rest, they’ve been waiting _ages_ for you two to show up.”

As he leads them into the living room to join their friends, with Alec stammering out apologies for being late while Magnus whines about how he had helped out with the baking too and definitely deserved thanks as well, Ragnor can’t help but smile at the two idiots. They belonged with each other.


	17. #17 - Costume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: Costume
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Stop scratching,” Catarina smacks Magnus’ fingers away from his beard.

He shoots her an annoyed look and deliberately brings up a hand to scratch beneath his beard again, smirking at her outraged glare. “It itches,” he whines, fidgeting in his throne. Well, it isn’t really a throne, regal as it sounds, it’s an armchair decked out in garishly festive colours that threaten to blind him. He sighs for the fifth time in an hour.

“You are sighing an awful lot for a supposedly jolly person,” Cat remarks. 

“Shut up, you are not the one in the itchy Santa costume,” Magnus retorts, finally abandoning his attempt to scratch at the spot below his beard. He deems it a lost cause and resigns himself to his doomed fate for the next three hours.

“I did volunteer, it isn’t my fault they insisted that Santa has to be a male,” she reminds him.

Magnus mutters under his breath, cursing the misogynistic and sexist practice of Mr. Valentine. Honestly, he has no idea what compelled him to sign up for this volunteer role. He blames Cat for it. She had signed up to volunteer for the Idris Mall’s Christmas festivities, and in a moment of absolute weakness, his conniving friend had somehow convinced Magnus to join her. “It’s community service,” she had said. He fails to see how stuffing himself into a musty old Santa Claus costume counts as serving the community. 

Glancing down at his watch, he sees there’s two hours and fifty-five more minutes to go. He can survive this. 

“Alright, break’s over,” Mr. Valentine, the mall’s manager, calls out as he opens the door to the fake-Santa hut. Magnus straightens in his throne and mentally braces himself for the avalanche of children. 

It had been a mixed bag in the morning; there had been sweet little Matthew who asked for a stuffed cow big enough for him to ride on. Magnus had to stifle his laughter at that and solemnly nod, before sending the boy off with a candy cane.

And there had been the tiny hellions who made Magnus wish Santa was actually real so he could write to Santa demanding coals for these brats. Annoying Andrew (as Magnus very smartly alliterated in his mind) had kicked and screamed the entire time he had been on Magnus’ lap; it had been hard to mask his scowl behind a forced smile for the picture. 

“Okay, next,” Cat calls out, ushering the next child forward. 

As the child and his guardian step into Santa’s hut, Magnus can’t help but stare at the boy’s guardian. Because that’s Alec Lightwood, the ice hockey captain at their school. Magnus has seen that handsome face around campus often enough, with tousled black hair and a bright grin that lights up his face. 

And like a slow-motion horror film, the grin slides off his face, mouth falling open and all Magnus hears is “NOOO MAX!”, before there’s a moment of silence as he gets the wind knocked out from him. His head slams back against the wooden frame of the throne, fast enough to give him whiplash and he wheezes for an entire minute, trying to catch his breath back, while his ears are ringing. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry about Max, I’m so sorry!!!” Alec rushes forward and quickly pulls the tiny culprit out of Magnus’ lap and into his own arms, far away from Magnus thankfully. The child-projectile is currently wailing his head off about Santa being dead and how he is going to go to jail for killing Santa.

“It’s okay, Santa’s fine, Santa’s fine,” Magnus waves Cat and Alec’s concerns away, focusing on the sobbing boy. 

“You’re Max, right?” Magnus glances at Alec, who nods, “Max, Santa’s okay. See, Santa can stand.” He rises to his feet gingerly, thankful for the beard that hides his wince.

“Santa’s okay?” Max chokes out, one fist coming up to rub his tears away, as he twists in his brother’s grip to glance at Magnus, or rather-- Santa. 

Magnus nods encouragingly, which seems to stop Max’s waterworks thankfully. “Here, would you like a candy cane? Santa has tons of candy canes for good boys like you!” He grimaces at just how terrible that sentence sounded aloud. Now that he thought about it, Santa’s dialogues were downright creepy. But the watery smile on Max’s face helps Magnus overcome his compunction.

“What do we say, Max?” his brother prompts.

“Thank you, Santa,” the little boy mumbles before shyly tucking his head back into the crook of Alec’s neck.

“Would you like a photo with Santa?” Cat interrupts, but Max shakes his head fiercely at that suggestion, probably still embarrassed at how he nearly killed Santa.

“I think Max is all tuckered out,” his brother declines. Santa and his elf wave their goodbyes to Max, the young boy promising to listen to his older brother and not run head-first into strangers, before the pair make their way towards the exit.

As Magnus settles in his throne and prepares for the next child, hoping fervently for a gentle one who doesn’t think Santa is a punching bag, he spies Alec with Max dozing on his shoulder, out of the corner of his eyes. He frowns, _had Alec left something behind perhaps?_

“Hey, uh, do you think I can take you out for a coffee perhaps, to apologise for my younger brother? I’m really sorry about that,” Alec says.

“What?” Magnus sputters out as Cat tactfully glances in the opposite direction.

“I’m Alec, from uhh AP Math? You sit three rows behind me. Uhm, you’re Magnus, aren’t you? I heard you were doing the mall santa stuff, so I brought Max along. I mean, I don’t go around asking random people out for coffee,” Alec blurts out.

“Yeah, I’m Magnus,” he chuckles, “and yeah, I’d like that coffee.”

And there’s another of those smiles again, a grin unfurling across Alec’s face. “Okay, cool cool cool.”

“I have another two and a half more hours for my shift,” Magnus supplies when all the other boy seems capable of saying is ‘cool’ at the moment.

“Oh, okay. Uh, I have to drop my baby brother off at home,” Alec gestures at the precious bundle in his arms, “but I can swing back later?”

“Sounds good.”

“See you then!” Alec says as he ducks out of the Santa hut again.

“See you later!” 

“Did you just snag a date while dressed as Santa?” Cat hisses the minute Alec disappears from sight.

“What can I say Cat, it must be something about the beard,” Magnus replies as he strokes the still-itchy beard thoughtfully.

She rolls her eyes at that. “Just be glad Max didn’t wake up to see his brother asking Santa on a date.”


	18. #18 - Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Stars

Spending the day navigating political minefields is far more exhausting than dealing with a demon invasion in Alec’s opinion as he snuggles up his equally tired husband. Exhaustion claims them both and they are drifting off to sleep when the quietude is shattered by the baby alarm that goes off, swiftly followed by heart-wrenching sobs of their son calling for Papa and Daddy.

“Oh fuck, shit, Max,” Alec is out of bed in an instant, his Shadowhunter reflexes kicking in, as he grabs the bow he has stashed by his bedside, ready to defend Max from any attack. He is about to lunge out their door when he sees his husband standing calmly beside the portal that he has just opened. Before he can ponder his husband’s nonchalance, Magnus shoves him through the portal that transports them to Max’s bedroom.

Alec rushes forward to their son, snatching him up and cradling him protectively in his arms as he surveys the room for any intruders. Thankfully there aren’t any, and he allows his bow to drop to the floor as the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. 

“You know it’s normal for toddlers to cry in the middle of the night, right?” Magnus sends a bemused smile to his husband, as he strolls forward to comfort Max as well. “This loft is protected by all sorts of wards befitting the High Warlock and the Head of the Institute, it’s impenetrable.”

“It’s better to be cautious, and he hasn’t cried in a while!” Alec retorts defensively.

The warlock shakes his head fondly as he gently cards his fingers through Max’s hair. “What’s wrong, Max? Did something happen?”

“I scared, Papa,” the boy chokes out, “You gone. Daddy gone.”

“Oh Blueberry, Papa and Daddy are here, see? We are here, in front of you.”

“Monster take you.”

Alec tilts his head in confusion at that, what monster is Max talking about? Both him and Magnus are careful to hide the dangers of their jobs from their son, could Max have witnessed something they didn’t intend for him to see?

“What monster, Max?” the Shadowhunter asks cautiously, slightly afraid of the answer.

A small hand flings out in the direction of the wardrobe standing in the corner of the room. The warlock nods silently at Alec’s unasked question, and casts a sweeping spell over the furniture. He shakes his head when his scan doesn’t detect any trace of demons.

The Shadowhunter heaves a sigh of relief, _looks like it’s just a nightmare then._

“Look Max,” he coaxes, speaking in a gentle voice, “Papa has checked your wardrobe, with his fancy magic and all.” At this, Magnus obligingly snaps his fingers to conjure up colourful sparkles to briefly distract Blueberry from his nightmare. “There are no monsters, right?”

“None at all, Blueberry,” the warlock confirms.

“You sure?”

“Very sure,” Magnus replies with a solemn nod of his head that seems to pacify the toddler, “Come Max, let’s go back to bed alright?”

Max whimpers and clings tighter to Alec, his tiny fingers digging painfully into Alec’s arms, when the Shadowhunter tries to put the boy back into his bed. “Scared, Daddy. No go, pwease” he pleads, bottom lip quivering.

Alec gazes helplessly at Magnus, racking his brains for a solution to this problem, when the warlock perks up suddenly.

A quick wave of his fingers sends a trail of light blazing across the ceiling, which evaporates to reveal a cluster of stars, glowing above their heads in a myriad of colours. The stars cast a colourful glow over the room, bathing it in a soft rainbow glow.

The warlock catches Max’s attention and gestures for the boy to look up. “Look Blueberry, see these stars above?”

At Max’s nod, he continues, “Papa used to have these stars above his bed when he was a boy too. And no monsters would come. These bright stars will protect you from any monsters. So you can sleep peacefully.”

“No monsters?” Max asks.

“Not with these stars around.”

“Pwomise?” a tiny fist reaches out, with the pinkie finger sticking out.

Magnus duly hooks his pinky finger around his son’s, marveling at how Max’s small fingers can barely wrap around his much larger finger. “I promise, Blueberry.”

This time when Alec bends to tuck Max back into bed, the boy goes more willingly. Tugging the duvet up to the toddler’s chin and placing his stuffed panda back into his arms, the Shadowhunter brushes a kiss against the boy’s forehead. “Goodnight Max, sleep tight.”

“Night Daddy.”

“Goodnight Blueberry.”

“G’night Papa.”

Magnus makes sure to check that the baby alarm spell is working before both men slip out of the bedroom. The warlock collapses into bed with a groan as Alec stows his bow back before joining him. Magnus is on the cusp of sleep when his husband pipes up with a question.

“Hey Magnus, did you really have stars above you when you slept?” he wonders aloud.

“Mmhmm, I grew up in Indonesia, and sometimes my mother would stargaze with me out in the fields, and I’d fall asleep with the stars shining brightly above,” the warlock reveals.

“Oh, that sounds rather nice actually. We should do that with Max someday. Bring him out to stargaze. Go visit Indonesia. See where you grew up.”

There’s a moment of silence and Alec wonders if he had put his foot in his mouth, before Magnus answers quietly, “Yeah, yeah I think I’d like that too.”


	19. #19 - Snowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Snowman
> 
> This fic can be seen as being set in the same universe as Day 12's Ugly Sweater and Day 16's Party. Or a stand-alone. Whatever floats your boat really.
> 
> Fun Fact: I am so snow-deprived I once went out to see snow at one am in the morning clad in a T-shirt, shorts, slippers, and a coat. Except that wasn't warm enough and my fingers and toes turned red. But at least I didn't get locked out of hall. 
> 
> Also, I fell down the Groffsauce black hole. And this fic is the result.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

Alec has barely rounded the crest leading to his hall, located at the top of a hill which is a fucking pain to climb in winter, when he is attacked by a flying octopus. It wraps itself around him, trapping his limbs to his sides. He nearly drops his bag of food, while trying to free himself of this unexpected appendage only to peer down into the familiar face of one Magnus Bane, his annoying roommate. 

Although Magnus most certainly doesn’t look like his usual self, currently looking very much like a drowned rat. His usually coiffed quiff is laying flat against his head, the wet strands currently dripping water into his dull brown eyes and his teeth are chattering

“Oh my god, you finally came,” Magnus stammers out, his teeth knocking together from the cold. “I’ve been out here for an hour.” The cold fingers, or icicles to be more precise, currently wrapped around Alec’s neck jolt him out of his shock as he realises that his roommate is only clad in his dressing gown, a pair of silk pyjama pants, and slippers. Questions flit through his mind, because what the fuck is Magnus playing at, standing out in the cold attired like that, but he pushes those thoughts out of his mind. They could wait till the threat of hyperthermia had abated.

Alec hastily sets Magnus down on his feet and sheds his coat, throwing the down jacket around the other man’s shivering frame. The scarf, gloves, and winter hat soon follow suit. Magnus doesn’t even protest, standing stock still, or rather as still as one can be while trembling as Alec tugs these new articles of clothing onto him. The ill-fitting coat practically hangs off Magnus’ smaller frame, but it helps warm him up, which is paramount at the moment. 

Gently directing Magnus back in the direction of their hall, he swipes his key fob to unlock the door. Both men visibly shudder at the blast of hot air that greets them at the lobby. Magnus makes for the heater in the corner of the reception desk, but Alec pushes him towards the stairs leading up to their rooms. Magnus makes a questioning noise, part annoyed and part whining at being denied access to more heat.

“You have to change out of those wet clothes, Magnus,” Alec tells him. He knows that while the thick coat would help provide some warmth, getting rid of the soaked clothes would be of more help. That Magnus follows without a protest worries Alec, because the other man usually loves arguing with him for the sake of it. If Alec told Magnus that the sky is blue, he would probably hijack a rocket and attempt to paint the sky green. Well either that or send Alec a series of photographs of the sky at sunset, with the message, “what do you call these hues of pink, yellow, and orange then huh?”

Pushing their room door open, Alec quickly cranks up the heater in the corner. His roommate sinks to the floor beside the heater and, judging by the loud hiss of pain, has attempted to go too close to it. “ _By_ the heater Magnus, not _on_ the heater,” Alec calls out while grabbing a dry set of clothes for the other man. The undecipherable grumble is music to his ears; if Magnus is starting to complain, that’s definitely a good sign. Alec would take a healthy and combative Magnus over a catatonic one any day of the week, pain in the arse as the former is.

With a fresh set of pyjamas and a dry towel in his hands, he pushes Magnus into their en-suite with strict orders to warm himself up. Alec is tugging the duvet off his bed to transfer to Magnus’ when the moan that comes out of the bathroom nearly sends him crashing face-first into the wall as his grip slips. Damn, who knew that hot showers were so pleasurable.

Thankfully, by the time Magnus emerges, only the blush on the tips of his ears remain. “Thanks,” Magnus says as he towels his hair, sending Alec a grateful smile. And when he sees the cocoon of duvets on his bed, he repeats himself again, softer this time, “Thanks, Alec.” 

The redness on Magnus’ frostbitten extremities seems to have disappeared after the shower, fortunately. Alec shrugs and pushes a cup of hot chocolate into the other boy’s hands, “No worries. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, much warmer,” Magnus replies.

“Hey, can I ask what you were doing out in the snow?” Alec asks delicately to avoid antagonising the other boy.

There is an awkward silence where Magnus sips at his drink, his eyes darting around the room nervously. “You don’t have to -” Alec begins before he is interrupted.

“No, it’s fine. I uhm, I saw that it snowed yesterday and wanted to go check if the snow was thick and sticky enough to build a snowman. And in my eagerness, I kind of dashed out without checking for my keys… ” Magnus admits with a grimace on his face.

“And you went out in just your pyjamas?!” Alec is flabbergasted at his roommate’s thought process, or the lack of it, because New York winters are absolutely brutal.

“I didn’t realise it’d be that cold! I was just… overly excited about the snow!” there is an edge of defensiveness creeping into Magnus’ voice as he hunkers deeper into his cocoon.

“Jesus Christ, Magnus, you could have called me! I’d have rushed back from town,” Alec chides. 

Magnus coughs and a fist creeps up to rub at his nose. “Yeah, I left my phone on the table too… ”

Alec stares at him flatly before bursting into laughter, “Oh my god, you are such an idiot. What would you have done if I hadn’t come back? Turned into your own snowman?”

“Shut up,” Magnus retorts, the abashed smile on his face softening his harsh words, “accidents happen. And I’d have made a brilliant snowman.”

“Whatever you say, Anna,” Alec shoots back with a cheeky grin. 

“Does that make you Kristoff?”

Alec snorts and shakes his head in fond laughter.

If for the rest of the Christmas break Alec starts singing “Do You Want To Build A Snowman?” at random moments just to annoy Magnus, well, that’s just another inside joke they now share.


	20. #20 - Ice Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Ice Skating
> 
> I have been reading a ton of ice hockey fics. And so I attempted to write an Ice Hockey AU! Most of my knowledge is gained from fics and watching the playoffs this year. I'm relatively new, so apologies for any potential inaccuracies.
> 
> Inspiration for this fic is from [this wonderful video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzDB70d9AUU) taken at a football match, where a Chelsea goalkeeper's son scored an absolutely brilliant goal.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

Amidst the buzz and cheers ringing around the stadium, Magnus makes a beeline for his son by the sidelines, thanking Izzy as she hands his precious squirming bundle over. “Congratulations. Three cups in five years, you guys should show some mercy to the other teams,” she says with a grin.

“Too bad, we like winning too much,” Magnus retorts swiftly, leaning over to peck her cheek, before skating off with Max on his shoulders. He winces slightly at the tight grip that Max has on his hair, one tiny fist coming up to tug on the sweat-stained strands. The blades of Max’s tiny ice skates dig into his shoulders painfully as the boy kicks his feet about in excitement and the hockey stick he’s wielding comes dangerously close to hitting Magnus’ nose, but with the adrenaline coursing through him, he is far too elated to bother about that. Because they were the Stanley Cup champions. Again!

His attempt to reach his husband is waylaid by his mob of teammates pulling him in for hugs and handshakes, gentler than the usual bear hugs and tackles they attempt given the presence of Max. All the players know better than to touch a hair of Blueberry’s, lest they face the combined wrath of their captain and alternate captain. 

“Down, Papa. Skate, skate, skate,” Max chants, while Magnus is mid-conversation with Underhill, evidently bored by the lack of attention being given to him.

“Alright baby, but be careful okay?” Magnus reminds him as he slowly lifts his son down. As he watches his son toddle precariously across the rink, clad in a tiny jersey, the long surname, _Lightwood-Bane,_ barely fitting across his small back, his hockey stick trailing behind him, he can’t help but smile. And that smile widens into a wide grin when the little showboat starts waving to the crowd around him, who obligingly cheer and wave in return.

Right then, Magnus feels something slam into this back, sending him gliding forward. Familiar arms wrap around his chest and he relaxes slightly in his husband’s embrace. “He gets that from you, you know?” Alec murmurs into Magnus’ ear, before grunting at the elbow jammed into his gut. Magnus snorts at his husband’s antics. On the ice, he is ready to throw gloves if someone even looked at Magnus askance and wade into tackles. But off the ice, he is just one big whiny baby apparently.

“Says the one who came out during a game by kissing me during his celly,” Magnus replies smoothly. 

The arms around him tighten fractionally. “You liked it though,” Alec says, turning his head slightly to place a kiss on Magnus’ cheek. 

“Shut up.” And Magnus proceeds to do just that, tilting his head to connect his lips with his husband’s, keeping the kiss chaste. Because while they were out to the rest of the world, they preferred to keep their displays of affection private; it was something for themselves, and they wanted to keep it that way. Right then, there is an uproar amongst the crowds as the volume in the stadium rises exponentially. Which is odd, because the trophy presentation isn’t for another fifteen minutes. 

Magnus glances around to locate the source of commotion, but all he sees are his teammates milling around with their family members, waiting for the ceremony to begin, before he notices it. Or rather him. Him being one Max Lightwood-Bane. 

Their son has discovered a stray puck and is slowly making his way towards the open net on the other side of the ice, egged on by the cheers of the crowd. Every few steps, he would glance up at the spectators, as if to check that they were watching, before turning his attention back to his puck. Max appears to be making an attempt to emulate his Papa’s own moves on the ice, except his clumsy stick handling skills send the puck veering off-course at least thrice. But each time, the boy goes after the puck with determination, his face furrowed in concentration, a look that Magnus has seen on Alec’s face often enough.

“Come on Max, you can do it!” Alec hollers out. Their son swivels his head around and beams at his daddy’s acknowledgement.

“Daddy, goal!” he shouts excitedly, a tiny finger pointing in the direction of the empty net.

“Not yet Blueberry, you have to put it _in_ the net. Just a bit more!” Magnus corrects him.

Max nods with far too much seriousness for a two year old, and steadily pushes the puck towards the goal line. His goal attempt seems to have caught the attention of the rest of the stadium, with the cheers rising to a near deafening crescendo as he inches nearer and nearer. 

When the puck finally crosses the goal line, Magnus swears the crowd definitely cheers louder for Max than when he himself scored the series-winning goal just thirty minutes earlier. As the goal horn sounds and the familiar tune of Chelsea Dagger plays, their tiny hockey player whacks at the ice with his pee-wee hockey stick, one fist raised in triumph, as a bright grin spreads across his small face. _God, what a tiny showoff_ , Magnus thinks wrly to himself.

Five years ago, Alec and Magnus had lifted their first cup and that had been the start of their relationship, the tension that had been building all season between both men rising and culminating in a night of celebratory sex at Magnus’ apartment. It had taken five weeks in the off-season for them to realise that this relationship wasn’t just about sex and they had The Talk, where they established that they were officially boyfriends.

Two years ago when they lifted their second cup, Max had been only an infant, small enough to fit _inside_ the Stanley Cup. 

Now, as Magnus lunges forward to lift Max onto his shoulders, celebrating his goal, with Alec trailing behind, he briefly wonders what the future holds for the Lightwood-Bane family.


	21. #21 - Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: Park
> 
> I seem to delight in taking the prompt and deliberately misinterpreting it as wildly as I can. And so I present this horribly cracky fic, inspired by this wonderful Suite Life of Zack and Cody video. You know, [_this classic video_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hsWnvwIJWA). 
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“What do you mean, you don’t have a driving license?” Alec asked with a bewildered expression.

His boyfriend shrugged and thumbed through his potions book, “I don’t need one.”

The Shadowhunter inched forward and tugged the book out of Magnus’ grasp, dangling it just out of his reach. “But you have a car, Magnus. Why would you have a car and not use it?”

“I didn’t say I don’t use it,” the warlock corrected, as he settled back on the couch with a huff, having given up on trying to retrieve the book. He could easily summon it back, but seeing as Alec was intent on having this conversation, his reading was likely to be interrupted anyway. “I just don’t _drive_ it.”

“Okay, you are going to have to be clearer,” Alec says, determined to get to the bottom of this… situation.

“I got the Corvette on a whim because Ragnor persuaded me to try out driving nearly two decades ago. He has these crises once every century, where he goes crazy and tries out weird mundane ideas. Anyway, I figured, why not, since I could afford a car. Except when he tried to teach me, it didn’t seem to work. I very nearly caused a car crash, which was only averted when I instinctively reached out with my magic to stop it. And then it hit me, why bother learning to drive, when I can just use magic to control the car. Win-win solution.”

The Shadowhunter frowned slightly, “But what if you get caught driving without a license?”

Magnus waved his boyfriend’s concern away. “It doesn’t matter really, I haven’t been in the car in three years. Travelling by portal is so much more convenient” 

“But what if you need to drive in an emergency?”

“Darling, as long as I have magic, I can conjure portals. And seeing as I am not in any danger of losing my magic any time soon, I’ll be fine,” the warlock assured, sending a fond smile at his worrywart of a boyfriend.

“Okay, no, I am going to teach you how to drive,” Alec declared.

“What?”

“Having a driving license is important. You never know when it might come in useful.”

Magnus just cast a dubious glance his way.

“What if I promise to make it up to you? Anything you want, as long as you let me teach you how to drive,” Alec wheedled.

When the warlock continued to stare at him unimpressed, the Shadowhunter decided to play his trump card. “It will make me feel better knowing that you have a driving license,” he cajoles, widening his hazel eyes in what Magnus called his ‘puppy eyes’ expression. As expected, the guilt trip coupled with the puppy eyes resulted in Magnus caving in.

“Fine, fine, you win. But don’t say I didn’t warn you that Ragnor has labelled me an unteachable driver.”

“It will be fine, Magnus,” Alec said confidently, patting the warlock’s thigh as he returns the book, his mind is already planning on the long road trips that they could take, driving out to the countryside on vacations perhaps.

~~

Now, as Alec is sitting beside Magnus in the car for their first driving lesson, he is regretting his own words. Because _nothing_ is fine. Sighing for the third time in five minutes, he says, “Magnus, the car does not need a cocktail holder. Because you aren’t meant to be drinking _and_ driving at the same time.”

“Spoilsport,” Magnus retorts, but he obediently vanishes the rather elaborate cocktail drawer with a snap of his fingers. “Okay, what next?”

“Have you checked your mirrors? And is your seat properly adjusted?”

“Check and check,” Magnus confirms.

“Brilliant.” The Shadowhunter glances down at the gear stick and heaves a sigh of relief when he realises that it is an automatic transmission car. It’d certainly make things easier. (And safer, since there is no danger of the car rolling back, he privately thinks). “Okay, so are you familiar with the gearshift?”

“Yes, the prindle,” Magnus replies as he taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, “I know this stuff, Alexander. Can we get to the actual driving part?”

“I’m sorry, the _what_?”

“The prindle,” the warlock repeats with a slight hint of exasperation.

The Shadowhunter furrows his brows, trying to figure out what a catamaran had to do with the gear shifts when he glances down at the letters printed nearly on the cover plate and it finally dawns on him what his boyfriend is referring to. He is starting to realise why Ragnor had labelled Magnus an unteachable student. But he is in too deep now to concede defeat, so he bravely soldiers on. 

“Are you referring to the shift lever that says, P-R-N-D-L?” he clarifies.

Magnus rolls his eyes in frustration. “Yes, Alec, that is the prindle. By the angel, are we ever going to get to driving some time within this century?”

The Shadowhunter rubs at his temples wearily, and wishes he could invent a Patience rune, because he is in desperate need of one. “Magnus, prindle is _not_ a word. It is a gear shift. The letters stand for park, reverse, neutral, drive, and low.”

“What the fuck? What is with all this technical jargon? The last time Ragnor taught me, it didn’t sound so complicated,” the warlock squints at his boyfriend suspiciously, as if he was part of a conspiracy to complicate driving.

 _That is because Ragnor is a warlock and probably attempted to self-learn,_ is what Alec wants to say. What he actually says is a silent prayer for patience, and “don’t worry, Magnus, this is easy, let me walk you through it.”

An hour later, the gear shift sufficiently explained, they were ready to begin driving.

“Okay, start the engine, and put the car in drive,” Alec orders, as he double-checks to ensure that his seatbelt is securely fastened.

“Alright, to the R it is,” Magnus shifts the gear stick to the appropriate gear, and prepares to step on the pedal, “buckle up, let’s go!” he crows out joyfully.

The Shadowhunter is distracted by his seatbelt which appears to be tangled, and by the time the warlock’s words register, his warning of “No Magnus, not the R! The D!” arrives far too late. Because Magnus has stepped down hard on the pedal, sending the car careening straight backwards into the tree at the end of their street.

As the car wraps around the tree and he is hit in the face by the airbag, Alec realises three things. One, Ragnor is wiser than Alec gave him credit for. Two, Magnus is right in that he doesn’t need to learn driving, for the safety of the New York population. Three, he should definitely update his will, because Magnus will be the death of him one day.


	22. #22 - Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22: Fire
> 
> This could potentially be seen as set in the same universe as the one in Chapter 4: Lights
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Has anyone seen Alec?” Magnus asks his friends as he slowly threads his way through the crowd milling around his kitchen. A couple of people glance up from their conversations to shake their heads. 

The editor sighs and moves towards the library; maybe Alexander had decided to immerse himself in the written words as he was wont to do when overwhelmed. “It’s easy to lose myself in a fantasy world, conjuring these scenarios in my mind, which are as far detached from reality as possible,” he had said when Magnus asked the younger man about the book he always seemed to carry in his backpack.

Pushing the door open, Magnus peeks in only to see his old friend Ragnor lounging on the armchair, thumbing through a book. A cursory glance at his bookshelves informs him that it is Dante’s Inferno that the other man is reading. “Enjoying the book?” Magnus asks. He closes the door, leaving the buzz of the conversations of the partygoers and the upbeat Christmas music at the threshold. His shoulders ease slightly as he is enveloped into the serenity of the library.

Ragnor doesn’t deign to look up and flips a page. “Mmhmm. One day, you will allow me to prise this first edition from your hands,” he answers. 

Magnus snorts out a laugh at that, “I’d like to see you try.”

They make conversation for a few minutes, before the editor remembers what he came in for. “Oh, by the way, have you seen Alexander?”

“Yeah, I think I saw him hovering by the balcony when I was walking here” Ragnor supplies.

“Alright, thanks,” Magnus rises from his perch on the armchair. “And I will be watching you very carefully, you sly bastard, so don’t bother trying to steal my book.”

“Oh fuck off and leave me alone with this precious book,” his friend scoffs. Magnus does precisely that, making his way towards the balcony, to locate his errant boyfriend.

Sliding the balcony door open, he shivers slightly in his jumper as he is greeted by the cold wintery air. Glancing around the open area, he finally spies his boyfriend, hunkered down on the balcony couch, in front of the outdoor fire pit.

The flames sway gently, their movements directed by the winds, casting a shimmering orange and yellow glow across Alec’s face. His boyfriend is gazing morosely up at the night sky, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“Alexander,” the editor calls out softly, as he draws nearer to the couch.

The younger man startles with a slight jerk, “Oh, hey Magnus. Is everything alright? Do you need me inside?” He makes to rise from his spot on the couch, but Magnus swiftly marches forward to push him back down.

“No, no, everything’s fine, sit down, Alexander.”

His boyfriend acqueises and settles back on the couch. Magnus sinks in beside him and sighs happily when an arm comes up to pull him closer. He is more than happy to cuddle up to his own personal heater, given how Alec tended to run slightly warmer.

They sit in companionable silence, before Magnus asks, “Are you alright?”

The arm around him tenses fractionally, before relaxing. Alec’s free hand drifts down to pinch the fabric of his trousers, rubbing the rough material between his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replies.

“Alexander.” Magnus tone shifts slightly, a hint of disapproval creeping in; he never did like it when Alec tried to hide things from him.

When Alec remains silent, the older man reaches out to interlace his fingers with his boyfriend’s, partly to still the younger man’s fidgeting, and partly to reassure him that Magnus was here for him. “Alexander,” he repeats, “is something wrong?”

“No, I mean, not really?” the younger man sighs, before he admits, “it’s just a bit overwhelming. There was just so much noise, and people kept coming up to me. And I know they are trying to be friendly, but everyone wanted to talk, and it got a bit suffocating. So I came out to catch a breather. I’m sorry, Magnus.”

“My dear boy, there’s nothing to apologise for.”

“Thank you for being so understanding about this,” Alec sweeps his thumb across the back of Magnus’ hand before pressing a kiss to it. “Magnus, you can go back in if you want, you know, I’ll be alright by myself out here.”

“I know, but I want to be out here with you. My friends can take care of themselves.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, darling. Now, what is so interesting about the sky tonight that you were staring at it for so long just now,” Magnus demands.

Alec huffs in amusement at the older man’s weak attempt at deflection, but allows himself to be sufficiently distracted. Tightening his arm around Magnus, he begins to speak, “Well, today is the Winter Solstice, which is the day with the longest night of the year. Except this year, it’s extra special because… ”

As Alec explains the Great Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, Magnus tucks his feet under his legs and settles in for a quiet night out on the balcony. 


	23. #23 - Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23: Shopping
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce)

“Alec!” Maryse calls out as she pushes the pram down the aisle, “Alec! Where are you? Alec!”

She sighs, part worried and part frustrated, as her son remains missing; she had just looked away for _one second_. But that was all the little scamp needed to complete his escape act. She had promised Alec that she’d get him a toy after their Christmas shopping, thinking the bribe would tide him through, but he had apparently gotten bored of looking at the ornaments.

Her gaze shifts down to her daughter in the pram; wide brown eyes darting from side to side in wonder at the shelves towering above her as she gnaws at her fingers. Reaching forward to tug the wet hand out, Maryse wipes it before tucking the blanket tighter around the baby. 

“You’ll be good, won’t you, Izzy? You won’t be a tiny terror like your brother, right?” she coos, earning a gummy smile in return as Izzy giggles delightedly at having her mother’s attention lavished on her.

Having to wrangle two children on her own isn’t an easy task, but she’s done it for the past five years, albeit unwillingly because Robert had been a terrible father. At least she is used to it now. And so she continues walking down the aisles, calling out her son’s name. 

She is just about to give up and head towards the information desk when a familiar tuft of black hair pops out of the toy section. “Mama!” Alec’s face brightens as she approaches. Maryse chuckles and shakes her head fondly, she should definitely have checked the toy section first; her son had been harping all December about asking Santa for a Nerf bow. Where else did she expect him to be really?

A quick visual inspection reveals that he appears to be unharmed and the knot in her belly eases slightly.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” she chides as she rushes forward to embrace her son, “what has Mama told you about wandering off?”

“Not to do it, but Mama,” the five year old replies, blithely ignoring her reprimand, and wiggles in her grasp, “look at what I found. Look!”

Releasing her son, she pulls back and glances in the direction Alec is pointing. Standing a few feet away from them is another boy, who appears to be slightly older than Alec. The young boy has an adorable bowl cut and is observing them quietly, his brown eyes shining with curiosity.

“Mama, see, I found a friend!” Alec exclaims, hazel eyes lighting up in excitement as he drags her towards his newfound friend. 

Stopping in front of his friend, he puffs up his chest and proudly introduces her, “This is my Mama. And that is my Izzy. She is a baby.”

“Hello ma’am,” Alec’s friend says softly. 

Maryse crouches down. “Hello there, my name is Maryse,. What is your name?”

“Magnus Bane, ma’am.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Alec bouncing nervously on the spot, his eyes darting between them as if anxious for his mother’s approval of his new friend. 

“It is very nice to meet you, Magnus,” she says. And both boys visibly beam and preen at her tacit approval. Alec makes to grab his friend’s hand, probably to return to the collection of bows and swords littering the aisle. Maryse puts paid to that attempt with a stern, “Alexander.”

“Mama, toys,” he whines, but a raised brow quells any further complaints. Thankfully, Izzy appears to be quietly dozing in her pram, allowing Maryse to focus on Alec and Magnus. At least one child is an angel, she thinks to herself.

Turning back to Magnus, she asks, “Magnus, where’s your Mama? Or Papa? Do they know that you are here?”

Magnus’ face falls slightly and his shoulders slump. “I have no Mama. Or Papa. But I have a look.”

“A _look_?” Maryse echoes. Because what on earth is a look? 

“Yeah huh, he is amazing Mama. Magnus says he is a policeman!” Alec informs her, earnestness written all over his cherubic face as if this was the coolest thing he had heard all day.

And then it clicks. A name, that’s what it is. _Luke_ , not look.

Shifting slightly as her leg starts getting numb, she continues her line of questioning. “And does Luke know where you are?”

Magnus shakes his head.

 _Well._ _Looks like she isn’t the only parent who has misplaced a child today._ She has no idea if that knowledge worries or consoles her.

“Okay. Here’s what we are going to do, boys, we are going to find Luke, alright?” she says as she straightens up from her crouched position. Anticipating their protests, she continues, “And no buts, Alec. Luke is probably worried about Magnus.”

“Kay,” Alec replies sullenly, one foot scuffing the floor, at the prospect of his playtime with his new friend being cut short.

The quartet slowly makes their way towards the information desk, Maryse pushing the pram, Alec holding on to the side with one hand, and Magnus with his other.

As they round the corner, a man’s voice frantically asking about a seven year old in a navy peacoat drifts towards them.

“Luke! Luke!” Magnus cries out, evidently recognising his guardian’s voice. He tears his hand out of Alec’s and he sprints towards the voice. Maryse makes sure to keep a tight grip on her son to prevent him from running away _again_.

“Magnus! Is that you? Oh, thank goodness!” the man’s relief is palpable, a feeling that Maryse can empathise with.

Walking at a more sedate pace to allow Luke to fuss over Magnus, Maryse draws nearer to see a tall man with a buzzcut and a leather jacket holding Magnus tightly in his arms as he peppers the young child with questions. 

“Luke, Alec!” Magnus exclaims when he spots them and promptly demands to be let down.

As the boys reunite like long lost friends separated for years, rather than three minutes, Magnus’ guardian approaches Maryse.

“Hi, I’m Luke, thanks for bringing Magnus to the information desk. I was getting a bit worried,” he says, extending a hand out in gratitude.

“I’m Maryse, and you’re welcome. I know what it’s like to lose a boy, I spent nearly fifteen minutes wandering up and down the aisles looking for my own son” she replies as she shakes his hand.

“I was ready to call in my squad to sweep the store, honestly. I only have the one kid, I can’t imagine how you can cope with two,” Luke admits with a wry grin.

“It certainly helps that one of the two hasn’t learnt to walk yet.”

As Maryse and Luke make conversation about their lives, both finding common ground in being a single parent, the boys engage in a game which involves far too many fist bumps and foot stomps for any adult to make sense of.

It is only when Izzy begins fussing that Maryse regretfully cuts the conversation short. It takes another twenty minutes before Luke and Maryse make any headway in separating the boys, with the Maryse promising to arrange a playdate for the following day before Alec finally concedes to leave the store without his new _bestest_ friend.

On the car journey home, as Alec chatters excitedly about all the cool games he is going to play tomorrow and the treehouse that he will get to explore, Maryse finds herself actually looking forward to the playdate as well, albeit for slightly different reasons.


	24. #24 - Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24: Christmas Eve
> 
> Pluto'd by the wonderful [AceOnIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOnIce/pseuds/AceOnIce) whom I love to Pluto and back, for cheering me throughout this entire writing journey and telling me that my ideas do not suck.
> 
> And to each and everyone of you who has read, left kudos, and comments, thank you very much for reading these and it makes me happy to know that people have enjoyed these stories!
> 
> This is the last one. Thank you and happy holidays!

“KISS, KISS, KISS!” Izzy chants, slightly inebriated after having indulged in a few glasses of mulled wine. 

Magnus rolls his eyes and steps further into the living room only to be greeted by a chorus of boos and a cushion to his face that sends him staggering back in astonishment. “What are you, five?” He picks up the cushion and tosses it back at Jace. 

That obnoxious git is currently puckering his lips and making kissing noises in Alec and Magnus’ direction, so the cushion that strikes him in the face is well-deserved. It isn’t as if he will lose any more brain cells with that soft blow. _One can’t have a negative number of brain cells after all._

“Aww Magnus, don’t be such a spoilsport!” 

“Yeah! It’s the mistletoe! You gotta respect the rules man!”

“DO IT, DO IT, DO IT!”

Magnus glances pleadingly at his father, or Maryse and Robert, hoping one of their parents would intervene, but all three adults pointedly look away, suddenly very concerned with the state of the coffee table. He wonders why he even tries, the trio of them had been playing matchmaker for the past three years, ever since he and his childhood best friend went to the same college together.

As the heckling escalates, Magnus turns back to see Alec still frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide with confusion, giving him a rather adorable _deer in the headlights_ expression. 

Magnus tilts his head towards the living room, where Izzy and Jace are currently catcalling, silently asking _so what now?_

The other boy shrugs his shoulders. _Up to you, I guess._

Figuring the ball is in his court, Magnus impulsively decides to indulge Izzy and Jace’s whims, crossing back to the doorway where the mistletoe is hanging above Alec. 

“You guys are absolute menaces,” he says. Although Magnus’ back is turned against Alec’s siblings, it is clear whom he is referring to. Alec’s gaze is locked on Magnus as he draws nearer, an indecipherable expression settling on his face, the mistletoe suspended ominously between them.

Deciding to play it up, Magnus loudly declares, “Alexander, would you allow me, Magnus Bane, the honour of a kiss, as dictated by the rules of the mistletoe?” 

“HE SAYS YES!” Izzy answers for her brother.

Alec huffs, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement as he nods. Magnus inches closer, the gap between both boys now nearly nonexistent.

“You sure?” Magnus murmurs, voice soft enough that only Alec can hear. Because just one word from Alec, and Magnus is putting a stop to this charade; he is willing to indulge Jace and Izzy, but not at his best friend’s expense.

Another nod.

Standing on tiptoes, he moves to place a perfunctory peck on Alec’s lips. Their lips brush slightly and Magnus makes to sink back on his feet when an arm shoots out to wrap around his waist, pulling him into Alec’s chest. 

His surprised gasp is covered by Alec’s lips, as the other boy tilts his chin down to connect their lips. Alec kisses him again, firmly and deeply. A tongue swipes across the seams of his lips, begging for entrance and Magnus grants Alec access. 

The ferocity of the kiss catches Magnus off-guard, and is at odds with the gentleness with which Alec rests his palm on Magnus’ nape, a thumb sweeping slowly along his jawline. Unconsciously, his hands drift to Alec’s waist, rubbing the worn Christmas jumper between his fingers.

“Holy shit. This is definitely not the first time you idiots have kissed!” Izzy blurts out before being quickly shushed, but it has already burst the bubble that both boys had been ensconced in.

~~

Reluctantly, Alec pulls back from the kiss, not before placing chaste pecks on Magnus’ lips and cheeks. As he straightens, he finds himself already missing the taste of Magnus, despite having acquainted himself with it just ten seconds before. The tang of the mulled wine, together with the sweetness of the peach lip gloss that his best friend loved, and that distinctive taste that was _just_ Magnus, it was an intoxicating and heady combination that Alec wanted to drown himself in.

He brushes his nose against Magnus’, an Eskimo kiss that feels far more intimate than the passionate one they’d shared just moments earlier, before unwinding his arm from the other boy’s waist, setting him back on his feet.

Magnus’ eyelids flutter open slowly, revealing dilated pupils, as he stares up at Alec dazedly. His blush is strong enough to be visible, even on his tan skin.

“What,” he pauses for a moment, blinking his eyes as he tries to gather his somewhat scattered thoughts. Alec is gracious enough not to tease the other boy and waits for Magnus’ brain to come back online. “What was that, Alexander?”

“A kiss,” comes Alec’s tongue-in-cheek reply.

At Magnus’ flat stare, Alec ducks down to whisper in his ear, “I thought about what you said earlier. And I want to do it.”

“You sure?” There’s a note of hesitance in Magnus’ voice and Alec hates that he had planted that seed of doubt in the other boy’s mind, even inadvertently.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alec replies firmly. Reluctantly stepping out of Magnus’ personal space, he reaches down to tangle their fingers together. He turns back to face the occupants of the living room, who had been considerately quiet while the both of them had been whispering amongst themselves. Five pairs of eyes are trained on them, waiting expectantly.

“Mom, Dad, Asmodeus, uh, Magnus and I, we have something that we, uh, want to tell you,” Alec licks his lips as he steels himself for what comes next. The encouraging nod and squeeze of his hand from Magnus gives him the courage to plod on. “We, well, we wanted to tell you that we are boyfriends.”

 _Boyfriends._ Even though he’d had The Talk with Magnus, where they both affirmed their decisions to be in a relationship with the very official label of boyfriends, the word still sends a thrill of excitement up his spine. Because Magnus Bane is his boyfriend! 

This time, the excitement is tinged with a hint of anxiety because neither of them had broached the topic with their parents yet. And had no idea how they would react.

Logically, Alec knows that their parents are accepting and open-minded people. They have friends who are in the queer community and the Lightwood and Bane families had enjoyed binging Schitt’s Creek last summer. His mom had even commented about how David and Patrick made such a good couple. But having a son come out as gay — that, well, that is different, and Alec is worried about potential backlash from his parents.

Yet now, as he glances at his parents, seeing the soft and approving smiles on their faces, he wonders why he had thought they’d disapprove. He should have had more faith in them; fear is irrational in that way, he supposes.

“Thank you for telling us, Alec, your dad and I are glad that you two are trusting us with this information,” his mother says softly. It’s a tone that he had come to associate with a firm hug whenever he cried, a kiss on his boo-boos whenever he fell. It is a tone that soothes and comforts, and reminds him that whatever it is, his mother is always there to make things better.

“Dad?” Magnus pipes up beside him, voice wavering slightly. Asmodeus had been silent ever since Alec had informed them of their relationship. 

Asmodeus quietly gets up from the armchair, and crosses the living room to where Magnus is standing. Alec squares his shoulders and stands taller, ready to defend his boyfriend if needed. Magnus’ dad raises his arms and Magnus tenses slightly, his grip on Alec’s hand tight enough to crack a few bones before he slumps over in relief as he is pulled into his dad’s firm embrace. 

Magnus reaches up with his free hand to wrap around his dad’s back. “Dad?” 

“Magnus, I love you no matter what, alright? I’m just so glad that you have opened up about this. I was so worried when you started pulling away from me.”

“I’m sorry Dad, I, I didn’t mean to. I was just terrified of how you’d react,” Magnus admits. The vice-like grip around Alec’s hand eases as the tension bleeds out of him.

“You silly boy,” Asmodeus chastises fondly, one hand coming up to ruffle Magnus’ hair. 

“You raised me. It’s your fault I turned out silly.”

“That I did, and I am very proud of how you’ve turned out. No matter what,” he says emphatically.

“Thanks, Dad,” Magnus murmurs, the gratitude clear in his tone.

~~

An hour and two shovel talks later, Alec and Magnus find themselves in the backyard, seeking a moment of quietude, away from the teasing and knowing smiles. They were relieved that their parents and siblings were accepting and supportive of their relationship. Still, there were only so many questions — _“so when did you realise you liked each other?”, “who made the first move?”_ — well-intentioned as they may be, that the boys could take before they felt the need to escape for some breathing space.

They are standing beneath the treehouse that they have long outgrown, as the snow falls around them. It’s a childhood relic that has remained in the Lightwood’s yard, more out of sentimental than practical value. 

“Hey, you are okay that I told our parents about us, yeah?” Alec asks, casting his gaze downwards, as if afraid of his boyfriend’s answer.

Magnus laughs, a quick bark of laughter falling from his lips, as he bumps his shoulder into Alec’s. “I mean, coming out underneath the mistletoe on our Christmas Eve dinner wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but it’ll do.”

Out in the backyard, there is no mistletoe, no Izzy and Jace taunting them in the background, but as Alec kisses Magnus, there is that same rush of affection that surges through him, that sense of contentment, and that familiar glazed expression on his boyfriend’s face as they part.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Magnus,” Alec whispers.

“Merry Christmas Eve, you dork,” Magnus replies, a beatific smile unfurling, as he tucks himself back into the other boy’s side, watching the snow fall as they usher in Christmas together.


End file.
